


Burning Stars

by Etched_in_Fire



Series: Star Fox: Fate's Decree [8]
Category: Star Fox Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eladard, Gen, Grieving, Lots of foul language, Science Fiction, Star Wolf, Star Wolf vs mob boss, Violence, and tobacco use, post-Lylat Wars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-03 05:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire
Summary: 0 ALW -- The climax of the Lylat Wars has come and gone, leaving destruction in its wake.  Left without a leader, the Androssian forces falter as the Cornerians begin to re-establish their dominance across the Lylat System.  Hunted by the Cornerian Empire, Wolf leads a wounded and humiliated Team Star Wolf to Eladard to lay low for awhile, ever planning his next move.  But tensions are high and not everyone is so willing to give up Andross's dream.





	1. An Heir Without a Throne

            The butt of his cigarette burned in the darkness of their damaged carrier, dimly lit by what few internal lights they could afford to replace.  He had meant to swing by and buy a lamp the next time he docked in Katina or Papetoon but it had slipped his mind for some reason.  Wolf sat in his chair, its faded violet cushioned back supporting him as he relaxed.  Banishing the tension from his body, he permitted himself a moment to let the panic soak him, taking a drag from his cigarette before exhaling the chaos and smoke both.  In the moments after, he began rebuilding himself, starting with his own goals and ideals. 

            “Is it true that he’s dead?” Pigma asked from the table, still bandaged from head-to-toe from their last scrap with the Star Fox team. 

            Wolf’s single violet eye flitted towards the hog, disdain in his wrinkled muzzle.  Yet he said nothing, taking another drag from his cigarette and puffing it out.  A few taps and it showered embers onto the metallic floor of their melancholy mobile hideout.  They faded almost instantly, swept away by Wolf’s boot.  He turned and glanced at his monitor, wondering how fast the Cornerians would find them if they remained in orbit around the smoldering green Venom.  Would they dare send an extermination squad to destroy the rest of Andross’s forces?  They were all but operating on fear now, the fall of their glorious and noble leader creating a power vacuum that was beyond painful to watch.  What was left of their forces were scrambling for power and order.  But it was futile. Wolf knew it all too well.  They would fight amongst themselves and the Cornerians would swoop in with their coup de grâce. 

            That was, of course, assuming they stayed and Wolf was not too keen on it.

            “Seems that way,” Wolf answered Pigma, knowing that Leon did not care enough to spare him words and that… Well, others were grieving.

            He looked to Andrew, sitting by the window, staring into the darkness of space with a look that Wolf knew all too well.  Hopelessness had overridden all of Andrew’s functions; since the news of Dr. Andross’s demise had been announced, he had barely uttered a word.  The despair was enough to make a man drink but Wolf knew of the four of them sitting in that room, he was the sanest.  Alcohol wasn’t going to make things better, no matter how much his tongue craved the burn of whiskey. 

            “So what’s next?” Pigma asked the silent room.  Wolf could have thrown the empty Cornerian soda can that had been plaguing his desk for the last three weeks at the selfish hog when he dared to speak.  Yet, he cautioned himself, knowing the sleezebag was a wild enough card to turn them all in for a pretty penny and a clean slate from the Cornerian Army. 

            “First things first,” Wolf said, still puffing away on his cigarette.  He stretched out his legs, resting them on a nearby storage chest.  “We need to get the ships repaired and that ain’t gonna happen on Venom.”

            His single eye swept across the other three faces, sensing little response from any of them.  Leon nodded—ever the perfect soldier, unaffected by any of the loss, the bitterness of defeat.  He kept moving and Wolf liked that.  Pigma was quivering in his chair, clearly restless at their grim situation.  And Andrew… Wolf gave a sigh of pity, snuffing his cigarette on his desk. 

            “We’ve got options.  I know a few guys on Eladard that can patch us up without a problem.  Just have to keep our heads low ‘til we get there,” Wolf shrugged.  “Once we get there, I think we might be able to get a few leads and keep goin’.”

            “Keep going?” Andrew asked, looking over his shoulder. “W-what do you mean by that?”

            “War’s over, kiddo.  Andross is dead.  The rest of the army’s gonna split before the Cornerians can get to ‘em.  If they’re smart, they’ll run for bandit country.  Papetoon wildlands, Eladard underworld, heck, there’s even a few space stations out there they could hide at.  But it doesn’t matter.  Venom’s done,” Wolf said, looking to the despondent heir.   

            _He’s grown since Andross gave him to me but he’s still got a lot to learn about the world._

            “Eladard’s fine by me, I got a few connections there too,” Pigma said with an eager hand rub.  Leon all but scoffed at that, looking towards the vastness of space outside without comment. 

            “Leon?  Got anything cute to add to the conversation?” Wolf asked, raising his bushy grey brows.

            “I care not where we go.  Before his death, Andross put his faith in you.  Thus, I shall go wherever you do,” Leon said with a shrug.  He pulled out one of his knives and began to twirl it absent-mindedly.  Wolf pondered if the assassin was contemplating dicing up Pigma.

            “Glad we’re all in agreement,” Wolf shrugged and began to punch in the coordinates to Eladard from his computer on his desk.

            “We’re not,” Andrew said firmly. “We can’t just abandon the troops.  Everything my uncle worked for… All those people that were relying on him.  We can’t just abandon that, Wolf.”

            Out came the sigh that Wolf had been holding, knowing those words would come.  He looked to Andrew, wishing sorely he had not snuffed his cigarette.  He rubbed his forehead, making sure not to disturb his eyepatch.  “You ever been to prison, kid?  It’s not sunshine and rainbows, I’ll tell ya that much.  We try to rally the troops, we stick around here, and we’re past done at that point.” 

            “Is that the great Wolfrik O’Donnell running away from a fight?” Andrew turned to face him, rising up from his position by the window.  His hands had become fists at his sides, his eyes filled with a childish determination that made Wolf almost pity him.  

            “Listen, kid, I don’t like this any more than you do.  But I ain’t gonna go back to Chasma Penitentiary because you got some vendetta against the Star Fox team,” Wolf retorted.

            “How can you say that?  They beat us!  Twice!  And didn’t Fox’s dad put you in prison to begin with?” Andrew asked incredulous and enraged.

            “So did that guy,” Wolf jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Pigma, who waved awkwardly with an uncomfortable chuckle. “And do you see me pounding his face in with my fists?  Naw, because it’s work.  It’s business.  Ya just gotta stay profess—”

            “What about the guy that took your eye, Wolf?  What about—” Andrew began.

            Wolf rose from his chair, a snarl resonating from him and his lips pulled back to bare his fangs. “Sit down and pipe down, kid.  You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about so just shove off.”  Ears back he glared the young heir down until he conceded, tearing his gaze away with a teenager-like scowl and scoff.

            “Why is it different for you, then?  Why can’t it be the same for me?” Andrew asked with an edge in his voice.

            “Because the guy that did this,” Wolf pointed at his eyepatch, the whites of his teeth still bared. “Wasn’t the entire goddamn fucking Cornerian Army.  We’re pulling outta here and you better learn to like it real quick.  The world doesn’t wait.”  He began to input the coordinates to Eladard, feeling his rage slowly fizzling out.  Though Andrew had returned to his chair, he could feel his brooding wrath from the other side of the room.

            _What’s he gonna do?  He can’t go back to Corneria now.  He’s a traitor to the empire and he’s gonna get himself killed if he doesn’t get his head on straight._

Their rackety Androssian carrier began the jump into hyperspeed, its hull creaking as it lurched forward.  Wolf’s eyes skirted the interior thoughtfully, musing darkly over how their getaway vehicle needed hefty improvements.  He pulled out a piece of paper and began to doodle as he sometimes did when an idea was trying to work itself out of his mind.  A ship was coming to mind, large enough to host their measly crew and yet large enough to store a plethora of vehicles.  He chewed at the pencil in his hand, thinking on the vessel for a few long minutes before inevitably giving up on the drawing, sliding it into a folder on his desk.

            Time ticked on slowly, painfully.  He turned on the radio, letting it play tunes that reminded him of his parents.  It was an old rock station, one that defeated the awkward silence that loomed.  Wolf let his eye wander about only after thirty minutes of the radio, flitting towards Pigma especially, who was rocking back and forth in his desk chair, its back creaking so loudly that Wolf was waiting with bated breath for the hog to tumble onto the ground.  Leon seemed to be waiting for the same thing, leaning forward eagerly in his chair.  Pigma shot him a glare, clearly unamused by his staring, to which the reptile replied by licking his own eyeball with surprising speed.  The hog gave a scoff and went back to playing around on his computer.

            The radio could not blot out the uncomfortableness in the air, but Wolf tried his best to ignore it.  When Andrew got up, unannounced, and left the room, he felt a little more at ease.  Wolf gave a sigh, melting into his chair, and willed the ship to move faster towards Eladard.  He eventually gave up and decided to go to his personal room, trudging his way to the dormitory area.  He passed Andrew’s room by, noting that the door was closed and locked.  The canine gave another sigh and entered his room, plopping down onto the bed.  He closed his eye, not even bothering to throw the covers over himself. 

            _Just another day in the business.  People die all the time.  We just keep going.  No sense in mourning.  Happens to everyone one day._

Something cold pressed against his throat and his single violet eye snapped open, flitting towards the intruder immediately.  He was surprised that the ape had been so quiet; perhaps he had paid attention to his training after all.  Andrew lurked over him, holding a switchblade in one hand, its tip pressing against Wolf’s grey fur.  There was a light in his dark eyes that Wolf recognized; the realization that everything was _gone_.  It took the one-eyed mercenary back to a time that he did not like to recall.  He wanted to feel bad for Andrew but the infamous leader of Star Wolf could not afford sympathy for the kid.  Not this time.

            “Turn the ship around,” Andrew said coldly.

            “Or what?  You’re gonna stab me?” Wolf growled.

            “I will if I have to,” came the reply, but even Wolf could tell that Andrew’s hands were shaking.

            “You don’t wanna do that, kid,” Wolf sat up slowly, his hands lifting, bent at the elbow.  His sole eye studied the enraged, grief-ridden face of the simian, feeling his own anger boil in his chest.  Andrew was still such a novice, still wet behind the ears and used to keeping his head low in the Cornerian slums.  He had leagues to go before he could even amount to anything in the underground world of Lylat.  Wolf understood this, trying to suppress his own anger for… a reason he could not quite put into words.  Perhaps he wanted to see the kid thrive…? 

            “Turn the ship around!” repeated Andrew Oikonny, teeth gnashed.  The tip of the knife drove further into Wolf’s fur, pricking at his skin.  The mercenary gave no indication that it hurt but his ears were pressing flat against his head. 

            “Oikonny,” Wolf said in a low voice, haggard by his conflicting emotions. “Put the knife down.”

            “Do what I say!  I’m the heir to Venom… I’m your boss!” Andrew began and Wolf gave a laugh.

            “Point out where it says that on the contract.”

            Andrew’s rage manifested in his eyes first, smoldering with the glassiness of tears on their surface.  Wolf moved before he could, however, seizing the ape’s wrist and turning it with such a force that the knife spilled onto the floor with a clatter.  He rose and pushed Andrew back, fur and hackles rising in tandem.  Andrew stumbled back, throwing a hand over his face.  Wolf grabbed his forearm, bearing down upon the kid with a snarl.

            “You’re on my ship, so you’re gonna obey my rules.  In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve been doing this for a while now.  So I think I know what this group should do to stay alive right now,” Wolf said vehemently. “You wanna die, you can pilot your fucking Wolfen back to Venom and wait for the Cornerians to come get you.”

            “I…” Andrew began, a quivering mess under Wolf’s shadow.  “I just want…”

            “You wanna do what your uncle did.  Fight the Cornerians for… Social justice, or whatever it was,” Wolf let go of his arm, but did not back away from the ape. “If you wanna get off at Eladard and look around?  Be my guest.  But until then, you’re gonna listen to my rules and do what I say.” 

            Andrew did not reply and Wolf gave a scoff, walking away from the trembling, lost simian. He stooped down, snatching the blade from the ground.  With a finger, he tested the edge, careful not to nick himself.  The canine’s only eye moved back to Andrew, and he added gruffly, “And the next time you think it’s cute to try something like this, I’m gonna dropkick your ass out into the middle of space.  Am I clear?”

            The simian’s head bobbed up and down.  Wolf kept the blade, tucking it into his pocket with a growl, “Now get out.” He watched Andrew go, sulking like a child out the door.  When Wolf shut his door, he gave yet another heavy sigh and wandered to his bed again.  He sat down, rubbing his forehead, careful not to disturb his eyepatch. 

            Specters ate at him, visions of the past drifting within his mind’s eye.  He thought of his crew, the one he had lost in their final raid against the Katinans.  There had been no way to tell that the Cornerians had set a trap for his pirate crew, led by the renowned Star Fox team.  But it did not matter; Wolf blamed himself for their deaths, for his time spent in Chasma Penitentiary on the lost corner of Macbeth.  Had Andross not intervened, Wolf knew he would have been condemned to live the life of a prisoner, mining for the government that had spurned him since the moment he had been born.  In a way, he mourned in that moment, silently staring holes through the wall.  His hands became fists and he exhaled angrily into the air, breath fringed with a growl.  This was twice now that he had lost to the Star Fox team—once against their original carnation and again against the son of James McCloud.  He questioned his own talent, despairing for a few moments before a darker part of himself snapped, telling him to pull himself together. 

            _It happens to everyone, remember?  No sense in getting nostalgic, no sense in getting sentimental.  We keep going._

He had not won every battle or every war, but he had survived, and that was what counted.  Mercenary work was tough and it did not reward the soft or kind-hearted.  Wolf laughed bitterly into the silence of his room, pulling the switchblade from his pocket.  He toyed with it, looking at his reflection cast from the silver of the blade.  His mouth twisted into a savage grin.

            _He really almost stabbed me with this._

Perhaps there was hope for young Andrew Oikonny after all.


	2. Resilience

             Deep space was an eerie thing.  Silence had volume, Wolf thought.  It felt heavy.  It felt like defeat.  The stars watched them, judging their path up until this humiliating retreat.  His single violet eye stared back at them, daring them to speak up.  Daring them to tell him where he had gone wrong.  On the run across the Lylat System was better than a cramped cell in Chasma Penitentiary.  There was liberation in the chase, a thrill that coursed his veins.  It burned, it threatened to devour him.  But he would not let it.  His nails nipped lightly at the railing, staring out of the windows at those stars that had seen so much.  Hushed quiet was all his brooding thoughts got in reply and he chose to walk away from them, making for the bridge.

             Their carrier moved with surprising speed, its hull making a strident creak every so often to let the crew within know that it needed a proper repair job.  Wolf just prayed that it would stay together until they landed on Eladard.  He was usually not the type to leave things to faith and gods he could not see.  But on that day, he was feeling exceptionally thankful that they all had not met their end on the toxic surface of Venom. 

              With a whir, the doors slid open and he saw his crew had barely budged since his nap.  His single-eyed gaze swept from Leon to Pigma, who was playing some form of computer card game, and evidently losing against an AI.  The canine gave a soft, amused snort and plopped down into his chair.

             “Did you have a nice nap?” Pigma asked him.

             “Slept like a baby,” Wolf replied with one of his toothy, enveloping grins, the joints of his neck popping as he cocked his head to the side. “A baby that got strapped to a rocket launcher an’ sent careenin’ into a goddamn Cornerian Cruiser.”

             “That good, huh?” Pigma chortled.

             “Andrew has not returned,” Leon observed, glancing past Wolf’s shoulder.

             Wolf thought briefly of their exchange before he had settled into his nap.  Though he thought to let slip what happened, he held his own council and gave the two a mere shrug in reply.  He drummed his fingers against the keys of his computer, logging in and glancing over at his radio.  They were snooping on the Cornerian Army’s frequency—they had been since the war began.  But now it was silence, crackling and unclear.  He breathed a sigh of relief.  Sometimes, no news was good news.

            “Why couldn’t we have snagged some of those teleportation devices?” Pigma said with a throaty ‘harrumph’, his proportionally small arms crossing over his incredibly large torso.  He leaned back in his chair, the support for his back cracking visibly.  If he noticed it, he did not seem to care.  “Woulda made this a lot faster.”

            “ ‘Cause it was either run for our lives or stick around to try to snag some goodies and risk gettin’ blown up along with Andross,” Wolf replied. “I like firework shows all right an’ stuff but I don’t wanna be part of the display, y’know?”

            “So where do we go from here?” Leon asked the question that had been haunting the back of Wolf’s mind. “Once we are finished with the repairs.”

            “We can lay low there for awhile,” Wolf answered. “There’s scum abound there, no one’s gonna rat us out or anything.”

            “Are you certain?  No one trying gain favor with the Cornerians?” Leon asked with arched brows.  “We are bound to be at the top of the Most Wanted list.”

            “Probably,” Wolf said with another shrug. “But we’re gonna run that risk anywhere we go.  I think it’s less likely to happen on Eladard, though, that place is too much of a hive for scumbags.”

            “Then why do the Cornerians let it persist?” Leon frowned.

            “Because it’s all on the down-low, Leon.  D’you know what that means?” Wolf asked, making to light another cigarette.  He fiddled with his lighter, which seemed adamant in refusing to spark.  He gave it a scowl and kept on trying.

            “It means covert,” Leon answered.

            “Exactly.  See, Eladard used to be kinda like Macbeth.  Lots o’ factories, mining facilities… But they sucked up all the resources there.  Left just a big ol’ planet of rock, dirt, and water.  And not the kind o’ rock that the Cornerian Empire wants.  So all these buildings, all these facilities an’ who d’you think runs the place once the Cornerians are done with it?” Wolf asked them.  Pigma was brimming with an answer but the canine pointedly ignored him. “Nobody.  Nobody runs it.”

            “Nobody?” Leon repeated, chewing on the thought with interest.  Two of his thin fingers rubbed the scales of his cheek, swiveling in his chair to face Wolf entirely. 

            “You see, when the Cornerians are done with something, they don’t really care about what’s left.  They’re kinda like… well, they’re kinda like parasites, if I’m honest.  Sure, they claim Eladard’s a part o’ their grand ol’ Empire.  But really?  It’s a used up piece o’ garbage.   They let the scavengers take it.  Better folk crowd there than on the streets of their pristine Corneria City,” Wolf explained, drawing in a deep breath.  He had given up on his lighter, tossing it into the bin over his shoulder with the unspoken vow of buying another once they reached Eladard.  “There’s a few Cornerian officials that oversee the planet.  Not much more than that, though.  They let the people do as they please for the most part.  So long as no one causes too much of a ruckus.”

            “Sounds like they might as well have just not left anyone there at all,” Leon remarked.

            “Just posturin’.  No need to worry about it.  In fact, we’re more liable to get attacked out here than—” Wolfrik O’Donnell’s words were lost in the tremor that ensued, the hull of their rickety aircraft carrier creaking with displeasure.  He lurched forward, stabling himself with the quick grip of his hand on the desk.  Pigma spilled from his chair. Leon leapt up, holding his arms out to either sides to steady himself.   With some difficulty, he made his way to the ship radar, hitting a few keys in.  When the radar suddenly refreshed, Wolf could see a collection of red dots upon the screen, like a bad rash.

            “We’re under attack,” Leon said to the others, as if it was not already obvious enough.

            “Who?” Pigma asked.

            “The Cornerians.”

            The voice came from the doorway, where Andrew stood.  A second tremor coursed through the carrier but he remained standing firm, bracing the wall with a hand.  His dark brown eyes darted to Wolf, remarking sourly, “You thought we could just fly across the Lylat System in an Androssian carrier without any issues?  What were you thinking?”

            “Pipe down, kiddo, or I’ll kick ya out the back doors to deal with ‘em yourself,” Wolf had never been one to fancy being smart-mouthed by an inferior, by a novice.  He rose from his chair.  “Leon, man the port cannons.  Andrew, you take the starboard side.  Pigma, you’re gonna try to get the communications through.  I’ll steer us outta this fucking mess.”

            Wolf sidled into the pilot’s chair, flipping a switch that took it out of automatic.  It cancelled their coordinated, seamless route to Eladard, but it took the damaged carrier into his hands.  From the joystick, he could feel the carrier’s massive physique, could feel it breaking under the weight of a shower of laser fire.  He put the thrusters at max and pressed forward with nary a warning.  Somewhere in the hallway, he heard Andrew and Leon stumbling about, their boots clanking against the metal in a medley of chaos.  He grinned.

            “I’ve got a message coming through.  Should I play it?” Pigma asked over his shoulder.

            “Play it, turn up the volume and let me hear,” Wolf replied without even looking to him.

            He heard the crackling of the speakers, aged and dusty, before the message broke through.  The voice on the other end of the line was not one that Wolf was familiar with.  It was a crusty voice, aged and grave.  Generic, Wolf thought, given the solemn behavior of the Cornerian Army.  They were a rusty, somber lot.  Perhaps that was why he had never bothered to even attempt entering the Cornerian Academy.  That and… well, Wolf had never had the funds for such an endeavor.  Especially as a teenager.

            “This is Cornerian Fleet 5.  State your name and business in this quadrant.  Our scouts have indicated you are an Androssian vessel.  Lack of reply or failure to surrender will result in the termination of you and your crew in two minutes,” barked the voice from the communication channel.

            “When did we get that message, Pigma?” Wolf asked.

            “Uhhh about six minutes ago…” Pigma began.

            “And it’s just now playing!?” Wolf sputtered, looking back at him with a single wide eye. 

            “D-don’t look at me!  We’re lucky this old piece of junk can put us into hyperspace!” Pigma shot back defensively.

            “Aw fuck it.  I didn’t wanna talk to them either,” Wolf retorted.  Even boosting as fast as he could lurch the ship along, he could tell from the stream of lasers zipping around the ship that the Cornerians were gaining on them.  For a moment, his violet eye flitted to the stars streaking by them, ever watching, ever judging.  He cursed them silently.  Cursed their passiveness.  They didn’t care who lived or who died. Steering with one hand, he donned his headset awkwardly, adjusting it with a shrugged shoulder.  “Andrew!  Leon!  How’s it lookin’ out there?”

            “Five cruisers, each with twenty units apiece,” Leon rasped.  “We’re going to lose this one, Wolf.  There’s no way this scrapmetal can make it to Eladard.  Not like this.”

            “Wolf!” Andrew’s voice cut in, sharper than he had ever heard it before. “Wolf, I have an idea.  But you’re gonna have to swap with me.”

            “Swap with you?” Wolf asked, brows knitting themselves with concern… and disdain.  Was Andrew suggesting he was a better pilot?  His pride was bruised but as the carrier rocked again, the infamous leader of Star Wolf resigned to his fate.  Better to burn out in space than go back to Chasma, after all.  “Fine.  Get yer ass up here, then.”

            He handled the ship, pressing it at its breakneck speed until Andrew stumbled into the bridge.  As he moved for the controls, Wolf kept his hand thrusting the joystick forward until the moment Andrew’s hand seized them.  The canine did not get sentimental often—or so he liked to believe of himself.  Yet in that moment, staring into Andrew’s determined eyes, he felt the world quiver.  It was something beyond the lasers piercing holes through their ship.  Something beyond resolve.  He saw fragments of Andross in the boy’s face like a faint ghost that would not stop haunting him.  Passion.  Remorseless anger.  Dedication.  Resilience.

            _Yes, there is hope for this kid after all._

            “Our lives are in your capable hands, kid,” Wolf said over his shoulder as he made for the cannon controls.  “Don’t get us killed!”

            “I’ll do my best!” Andrew said firmly.

            Wolf sprinted down the small hallway, his shoulder scraping the walls with every hit from the Cornerians that struck true.  He grabbed the railing of the ladder that led upwards into a small cockpit situated on the side of the carrier.  He was thankful that he’d sent Leon to the port side, not wanting to have gone to there.  It was Pigma’s preferred spot during a deep space chase.  The man was a fine enough pilot, but he had a bad habit of leaving his potato chip bags everywhere he sat.

            The moment that he grabbed control over the cannons, he could see the hopelessness that they faced.  Leon’s count had been right.  The Cornerians were in full-force behind them, trailing after their wounded vessel like a hyena after a dying antelope.  His nails dug into the cushions of the cannon’s joystick with fear.  He put on the headset connected to the cannon control panel and cleared his throat to announce his presence.

            “We should consider turning and surrendering if this doesn’t work,” Pigma was caught saying on his own headset.  “I’m lookin’ at the shields and we’re at about 30% power.”

            “Put it all in the rear, if you can—” Wolf began and there was a chortling, almost gagging noise.  “Shut up.  You get what I mean, block our tail.”

            “On it, boss!” Pigma replied, a phantom laugh still plaguing his voice.  Wolf scowled and flitted his ears back, a growl on his breath.

            He swiveled about in the cockpit’s chair, pointing the cannon at a few Cornerian fighters that were closing in.  When his finger clasped the trigger, he watched them veer low under the lethal crimson laser.  Wolf pursued them the best he could, clipping one’s wing and watching it fall into nothingness, burning like a reckless comet.  A few green lasers crashed into the metal near the windshield, the shaking that resulted so powerful that Wolf had to stop firing for a moment, trying desperately to keep his bearings. 

            “Andrew, how’d you—” Pigma’s voice cut through the static of the radio. “How the hell did you manage that!?  And why the hell didn’t you say anything sooner!?”

            “I-I wasn’t sure it was going to work,” Andrew began uncertainly. 

            “Talk to me, boy, what’ve you done?” Wolf asked.

            But there was no answer.  Wolf turned his head towards the front of the ship, peering as best as he could outside.  Though he struggled, he could not see what they were talking about, his single-eyed gaze sweeping about their surroundings.  He did not notice it until they were upon it—a massive portal carved from the void of space itself.  Its maw was purple and pink, its edges fringed with sparking orange. 

            “Holy shit!” Wolf stammered before they were swallowed whole, sucked into a land of colors, pulsing like a heartbeat.  He could feel the hull accelerating and his fingers formed a vicelike grip upon the control stick. 

            Within the portal, there was no concept of time.  At least, that was what Wolf thought.  It was a place of color and light—a dance of everything chaotic, fleeting as life was, surreal as the calm after a destructive hurricane.   It was nonsensical, where they were; a wonderland from some child’s fairytale, or some druggie’s high.  He watched everything bend down the wormhole—lights and colors both.  Flashing.  Beating.  Pulsing.  A heartbeat to something that felt far, far greater than he could ever be.

            And then, empty space.  As sudden as their devouring had begun, it ended.  And the Cornerians were nowhere in sight. 

            “O-okay,” Wolf began, each word crisp and staccato.  His emotions were colliding together like waves drawn by different currents. “I want to have a meeting in the bridge.  Right.  Now.”

            He stood up, setting the headset on the arm rest of the chair, hooking it so that it would not clatter onto the ground.  As he made his way to the bridge, he straightened his jacket and his eyepatch both.  As hard as Wolf tried to be mad, he was relieved beyond anything else.  Beneath his relief, however, was broiling fury.  Fury that would see his hands around Andrew’s neck, if he did not check himself.  When the doors slid open to the bridge, he found that the other three had already congregated, Leon and Pigma both gaping at Andrew.  Their chatter ceased the moment that they saw him, falling into disquiet.

            “So you brought a teleportation device with you,” Wolf said, picking at one of his own nails as he walked up, gait fluid and lax. “And you didn’t tell us.” Everything about his tone was matter-of-fact, as if not for debate.  It was calm.  Nonchalant.  Stifling and drowning out the bitterness that had filled his mouth.

            “Yeah,” Andrew said.  The same firmness from before was still there.  The same foolhardiness that had made him try to stab Wolf, too.  But past the confidence, the passion, Wolf could see that he was beginning to waver.  His strength waning, his fearlessness dying.  The canine pressed his glare into the simian, watching him slowly wither.  At last, Andrew confessed, “Okay, I’ll admit it.  I wasn’t sure it was gonna work.  I had it installed last minute.  Just in case… In case something _bad_ happened.”

            “Like being on the run from the Cornerians, or y’know, your uncle going—” Pigma began but was cut off by a sharp elbow from Leon, of all people, who gave him a spiteful, dagger-sharp glare.  “Er… point is, you saved it for something bad.”

            “Well, it paid off.  I just wanna know where the hell you took us,” Wolf replied. “Gonna ignore the fact that this coulda saved us a hell of a lotta trouble to begin with.  If I keep thinkin’ about it, I’m gonna be tempted to wring your fuckin’ neck.”  He dropped into the chair planted firmly still near his desk and computer.  “Pigma, stop squealin’ about and give me the report.”

            “I took us far away.  That’s all I could think to do,” Andrew sighed. “I-it’s not like I had a whole lot of time to think about it, okay?”

            “I’ll give you that much,” Wolf considered, feeling a tad bit merciful. 

            “Ehhhh…” Pigma fiddled with the controls, looking over the radar.  He tabbed the radius, scanning outward.  “Looks like we’re low on fuel and headed towards Titania.”

            “Well, that’s not too off course,” Wolf scratched his chin.  “Eladard’s just a few hops after that.  We can make it with the fuel, right?”

            “Probably,” Pigma’s head bobbed up and down in confirmation.  “Just need to be conservative.”

            “Our shields are low, though.  15%,” Leon chimed in.  “Looks like we took heavy fire in some areas.  I’d be surprised if we could sell this junk off for 200 Lylatian Credits.”

            “Who says we’re sellin’ it?” Wolf asked, raising his brows. “It’s an old piece of junk, but it’s our piece of junk.  Besides, we’re gonna need it sooner or later to get off the planet and do jobs.  We’re not gonna find much on-planet.  Like I said, you don’t find good folk in Eladard.”

            “Besides, I heard that the Androssian logo is gonna be considered vintage real, real soon,” Pigma added, scathing and looking dead at Andrew, who merely shot him a nasty glare in reply and rolled his eyes.

            When they passed by the desert planet of Titania, Wolf looked out at its menacing red eye.  Hands together, his fingers interwoven within each other, he glared down at the feral wasteland, a vague growl in each exhale.  One of his ears went back and he forced himself to glance at his computer.  Privately, he pulled up a tab—a direct message to Leon, who only sat a few feet away, at his own computer.  His fingers drummed softly against the keys, composing the message and sending it before he could be interrupted.  It read:

 

>             _Leon,_
> 
> _When you have the chance, can you pull up the communication log?  Look back to when we took off from Venom._
> 
>  

            There was something that just did not sit right.  He paused a moment, trying not to make his attention towards Leon noticeable.  When the lizard tossed a covert look in Wolf’s direction, the canine gave a very slight nod.  Dread was stirring in the pits of Wolf’s stomach.  He earnestly hoped it was just his paranoia talking. 


	3. Of Scrapping and Scars

            Eladard was where dreams went to die.  Wolf remembered the day he had set foot onto its rocky, unforgiving surface.  The metal of the ramp from the carrier had creaked so loud it felt it had pierced through his eardrums.  When it thudded into the rickety dock that they had set up for newcomers, it felt like an earthquake.  He had steadied himself with a hand, his other occupied with a back slung over his shoulder.  Back then, he had not been alone.  He had clung to his sister and brother as though they were driftwood and he was drowning in a dark water ocean.  He had been the middle child, the older of the two boys—but still tragically young to have been shoved onto the transporter to Eladard.  His sister had wept since the day they left home -- Area 5 Galactic Colony, now a memory of rubble and bodies that would never be collected.  Since that dreaded day, he had to act like he was the oldest.  He had to act like he was the strongest.  And perhaps he was.

            “Wolf.”  His brother was named Ralph.  A young, brown-eyed child, barely even seven years old, still carrying the ratty doll that their aunt had sewn them.  It was in the shape of a dog, floppy-eared, grey, and stained white.  His voice shivered like a cold wind, “Is this our new home?”

            “Yeah, kiddo, this is where we’re gonna live now,” Wolf had grinned at his brother, a very forced mask of glee.  He tried to keep his false enthusiasm up, but it was waning rapidly.  His violet eyes moved to his sister, Tala, who had her arms crossed over her chest, breathing out a shaky sigh.  He did not catch her eye but he read her clear as crystal.

            When they had stepped onto the docks, his eyes had turned to the sky.  Clouds smeared against the sky, jagged and brittle in appearance, as if they were depictions of ice.  Beyond that, there was endless blue, pale and soft, unlike the rest of Eladard.  Titania was close enough to remind him of everything that had happened before.  It loomed over them, daunting them.  Wolf clutched his bag tightly as he looked up at the sky, giving a sigh before joining the rest of the gathered misfits on the docks.

            “When are we gonna find Auntie Lupa?” Ralph asked.

            “Shhh,” was all Tala said, gently placing a hand on the child’s back and urging him forward.  Wolf could still feel the lump in his throat, over a decade later, choking the life and youth from him.  He had taken Ralph by the hand and had started walking towards the dismal city of Corona.  Towards destiny.  He could never have known what Eladard would hold for him.

            There was nothing Wolf could say to describe how it felt to return to Eladard.  As they stepped out from the breaking Androssian carrier, he felt nostalgia in the most bitter sense.  It was not a homecoming, but it was something of that nature.  His eye swept across the port, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat.  It had been so many years since he had set foot on the craggy, desolate planet that he barely recognized it.  It had grown somehow, despite the absence of strict Cornerian rule and a dying economy.  His single eye swept towards the other ships docked nearby.  A few of them were modified Civil War Cornerian carriers, the emblem of the empire vaguely scratched off.  He gave a snort, shaking his head, checking his belt without even a glance down.  His blaster hung at his side, his left hand seizing a bag that held some basic necessities—a bit of food, a bit of water, some extra clothes.  The other three had gathered some of their belongings in a similar fashion, ever prepared for the worst. 

            “Keep your wits about you,” he muttered to the other three over his shoulder and stepped off of the landing ramp and onto the dock. Each step Wolf took down the ramp was flooded with confidence and festering resentment.  He had hoped to never return here, if he could help it.  But desperate times called for desperate measures.

            “Where are we headed?” Andrew asked him but Wolf did not reply.  Some things were better shown than told.

            A goon clad in a sloppy Cornerian uniform walked up to him.  It had what Wolf hoped were dirt stains on the front, a few holes and rips here and there.  The man had a hard eye.  He was a jackal, standing a head and a half shorter than Wolf, who quirked a brow at the officer, as if daring him to say something.

            “Got an ID?” the offier asked, though his weasley voice made Wolf think he was only doing this because it was his job. 

            “Yeah,” Wolf pulled out his blaster, sticking it to the officer’s chest. “This guy.  You want the details or is this—” he shoved it further into the officer’s chest. “—just fine?”

            The officer’s eyes flitted down to the blaster jutting into his chest, a low growl resonating from his throat.  He held up his hands and backed away.  Wolf kept the gun trained on the officer until he was at a far enough distance to not be a bother anymore.  With a confident smirk, he glanced over at the other three and continued out of the hanger.

            When they stepped into the sun, Wolf shielded his eye from Lylat’s rays, sweeping his gaze over the streets of Corona.  The buildings that had once blotted out the sky were decaying.  Windows were grimy, some broken through, letting the crisp air in.  A few shops were broken down, their rooves missing and replaced with tarps.  People sat on the sides of the road, some in tattered clothes, some already drunk despite it being only an hour past noon.  Wolf gave a snort, shoving his hands into his pockets, never straying far from his blaster.

            “Some things never change,” Pigma remarked, a rueful twinge to his voice. “Same grimy place it was the last time I was here.  Same drunkards, same stench…”

            “You?  Complaining about stench?” Leon jabbed.

            “Shaddap,” Wolf tossed over his shoulder. “Keep your cool.  And glare down anyone that glares at you first.  That’s how you stay alive here.”

            “What a hellhole…” Andrew remarked, low and under his breath but loud enough to warrant a swivel from Wolf’s left ear.  The canine gave a smirk—that sort that told young Andrew that he had barely seen the tip of the iceberg. 

            “Heh, so who’s this contact you’ve got in mind?” Pigma asked.

            “An old friend of mine that got me outta some trouble a few years back,” Wolf replied. “He’s a good guy.  A bit rough so watch yerself.”

            “He got a name?” Pigma prompted.

            “Everybody’s got a name,” Wolf retorted with the flick of his tipped tail.  Pigma’s scowl chased him a few paces down the street before the portly hog began to lumber after him. 

            The four wandered the broken streets until they came to a building made of pure steel.  Rust and wear shown at the corners, the plates bolted together with mechanical precision.  The roof was still intact, dome shaped with a suspiciously large dent on its northern side.  Wolf glanced at the door, a little tilted with a hinge broken at the top.  When he went to open the door, it appeared stuck before he gave it a hefty pull, forcing it open.

            When he stepped in, he was caught in the immediate scent of metal, rust, and above it all, the sheer amount of time that had passed—an ageless, yet nostalgic smell.  It reminded him of his grandparents, folk that he had not spared a thought towards since he was a child.  The aroma was a heavy musk, not unpleasant but not sweet to the senses.  It washed over him, spilling into the open air of Eladard’s capital city.  He stepped inside, inhaling the stale air and glancing about with his single eye at all of the piles of _junk_ that sat about. 

            The shop was tiny, its walking space very sparse and framed by random items—slabs of metal, floor panels from some decommissioned ship, toolboxes upon toolboxes, a few filing cabinets, and other various items, some of which seemed so bent and broken that Wolf could not even identify them.  At the back of the room, there was a counter, made of wood that had seen too many knives dug into it.  Wolf walked purposefully up to it, his hand slamming the bell on the counter.

            “What kind of place is this?” Leon asked disdainfully.

            “A junkyard?” Andrew asked, looking equally as unenthusiastic as his chameleon comrade. 

            “Don’t touch anything,” Wolf advised them sharply, leaning against the counter.  His ear turned in the direction of the shop keeper, a crocodile that stood a half-head shorter than him.  He sported a growing beer belly, just enough to give a curve under his greasy white tank top.  His jeans were torn at the knees, and not in the posh way Cornerians styled them.  His cap was on backwards and his scales were stained to his elbows with grime, grease, and dirt.  In one hand, there was a stained rag.  In his other hand, there was a screwdriver.

            “Well, I’ll be,” the shop keeper said in a thick rural accent. “If it ain’t ol’ Wolfrik O’Donnell.  The Space Pirate.”

            “Not these days, Lenny,” Wolf said with a crooked half-smile. “Been dabblin’ in some other stuff lately.”

            “Well, clear as day it ain’t goin’ right else you’d be off this shithole planet,” Lenny retorted. “I thought ya said ya were never comin’ back.”

            “I was nineteen years old and on the run from the police,” Wolf shrugged. “Times change, Lenny.  People change.”

            Lenny gave a snort, his large mouth twisted in a frown of disbelief.  Two of his teeth jutted out with some thought and he leaned his elbow against the counter, cleaning off the screwdriver with the rag.  “Maybe ya came back to finally pay off yer damn debt?”

            “The one you weren’t gonna hold against me?” Wolf’s ears flicked back, one of his hands touching his chest. “Or did I remember that wrong?”

            “I didn’t say anything about that,” Lenny shook the screwdriver at him for emphasis. “Now why don’t ya remember ya damn manners and introduce me to yer little kiddie gang ya got goin’ on over there, eh?”

            “Alright, alright.  This is Leon Powalski.  Pigma Dengar’s on his left, and Andrew Oikonny’s past him,” Wolf said, gesturing to each member of his motley crew. “Crew, this is Leonard Nile, he’s my ex-boss back in the day.”  The crew gave their awkward “hellos” and Lenny responded with a grunt.

            _He doesn’t seem pleased… but he doesn’t seem displeased.  He really wasn’t expecting me to pay off that debt, was he…?_

Wolf flicked an ear to the side, testing the waters carefully, “We’re the Star Wolf team.  Maybe you’ve heard of us?”

            Lenny snorted again, setting down the items he was carrying. “I mighta heard a thing or two ‘bout a former space pirate leading an army for the fucking crazy monkey-king on Venom.”

            Wolf could sense Andrew tense up behind him but before the simian could speak up, Wolf intervened, “Yeah, well, money’s money and they broke me outta Chasma over on Macbeth, so I can’t complain too much.  Except now.  When my carrier’s been shot to shit by some Cornerians.”

            “And lemme guess, ya want me to fix it up for ya?” Lenny raised a scaly brow. “Sounds like yer typical runaway kiddo.  Comes back with his tail tucked when things go south, like ya didn’t tell him it was a bad idea.”

            “Oh c’mon,” Wolf huffed. “Shit happens, you know how it goes.”

            “Shit happens to you a lot,” Lenny pointed out. “Ya shoulda done what I told you all those years ago.  Told the police what happened an’ all.  Ya coulda cut a deal.”

            “We’re not discussin’ this.  Not right now.  Not in front of the kiddos… and, er, Pigma, I guess,” Wolf permitted his voice to grow in confidence and assertion, looking Lenny square into his dark eyes. “You still scrappin’?”

            “Ain’t shit to do here but scrap,” Lenny replied icily.  “Some o’ us don’t commit fucking _murder_ then run out on our job an’ loved ones.”

            _Ouch._

            He could feel the trio behind him brimming with interest at the story.  Wolf’s nails rapped against the bruised wooden counter, staring down Lenny evenly.  His grey fur prickled under the weight of his former boss’s glare, feeling it rise with his nerves and emotions.  Leonard had never tested him like this before—perhaps time had made the old codger even more bitter.  Wolf had not thought it possible.  But if Leonard was going to deny them any form of favor, then he knew they were going to be in a tough spot trying to patch up their carrier. 

            “So I burned you,” Wolf said, studying Lenny’s face with careful calculation.  “Left you to deal with my mess.  I told you I’d make it up to you. And I will!”

            “How?” Lenny asked.

            “You need some scrappers for a week?  I’m sure I still got it in me,” Wolf offered and Lenny gave a laugh.

            “Wolf, ya know I got more scrappers than I know what to do wit’.  Ever since the mines closed down an’ the rich folk packed ship to go home, it’s been a slow as fuck,” Lenny shrugged. “I need somethin’ a bit more eh… difficult, I guess ya could say.”

            “Oh yeah?” Wolf raised a brow, but did not hide the apprehension in his voice.

             “Ya remember ol’ Archie?” Lenny asked—the stupidest question Wolf had heard in his life.  Of course he remembered Archie.  Who could forget him?  A lumbering giant of a bear, an old ruffian out from the Cornerian outskirts, the wildlands that had thus-far staved off the urban invasion.  He was a ruthless crimelord, his massive paw dipped into a variety of trades.  Wolf had wondered if the old thug was still on the wasted Eladard.  If he’d had money to spare, he would have gambled that Archie had left long ago, when the proper Cornerian officers had.

            “Yeah, what about ‘em?” Wolf asked.

            “He took somethin’ from me.  ‘Bout a year ago, I think.  A silver necklace.  It’s got an opal, dark as night with a flurry of sparkles on it.  Like stars.  I want it back,” Lenny had a hard look in his eye, the sort that Wolf had seen before—years ago. 

            “A necklace?” Andrew could be heard somewhere in the back, sounding skeptical. 

            “Yeah, a necklace!” Lenny scowled at him, daggers in his midnight eyes. “Yer gonna head up to his joint up the hill and yer gonna get it back.”

            “I’m still caught up on Archie Ursus still livin’ out here of all places.  I thought he’d be gone by now,” Wolf remarked, staring evenly at Lenny. 

            _You old scaled bastard, you know I can’t just walk up to Archie and demand something from him.  He’s gonna remember me.  He’s gonna remember what happened last time._

            “Well, the Cornerians left so he’s the ruling tyrant now.  Unofficially, o’ course.  There’s still some Cornerian Defense Force goons here but they got bought out a long time ago,” Lenny retorted. “He’s settled in an old manor now.  Overlookin’ Corona.  Fancies himself a new title now— _Baron_ Archie.”

            Wolf’s single eye rolled with exaggerated annoyance.

            “Anyways, I can do whatever ya want wit’ yer carrier if ya give me the necklace back.  Hell, I’ll fix it so good the fucking dogs won’t even know it was part o’ that madman’s rebellion.  Whatcha say there, O’Donnell?  Sound like a deal?” Lenny asked, offering his rough, scaled hand.

            _You know I can’t say no.  But you also know I want to say no with every fiber of what I’ve got left in me._

“Don’t got much else to lose, I suppose,” Wolf lied through his teeth, knowing the last time he had tangled with the belligerent bear and his cohorts, he had nearly lost everything.  He had climbed from the pits of hell since then, one shaky grasp at a time.  Absent-mindedly, the canine adjusted his eyepatch, the tell-tale traces of scarring around his missing eye visible.  When he clasped Lenny’s hand, he could feel the shiver of fate in the stale air, chilling him down to the bone. 

            “Heh.  You can stay out in the dorms tonight if ya want.  The boys have all gone out for missions.  Won’t be back ‘til the day after tomorrow, and that’s if they don’t hit up the bars on their way home,” Lenny gestured out the window, where a cluster of steel buildings sat among the trash and scrapmetal, systematically organized in Leonard’s chaotic way.  Wolf cast a glance out the fogged window, a strange creeping feeling in his chest—darkened dread with a hint of bitterness.

            “Are you… sure we can’t find an inn?” Andrew began skeptically.

            “We got the coin for it,” Pigma suggested.

            “Oh quit yer yabberin’,” Wolf said, feeling the Eladardian drawl infest his voice.  Andrew shot him a second quizzical look and the canine glared away from him, fiddling with the collar of his overcoat.  “Let’s go check it out and start formin’ up a plan of action.”

            Lenny watched them all go with his hard eyes.  Wolf marveled silently over how life had steeled the reptilian scrapper, molding his charitable heart.  But that was the nature of Eladard, the nature of the Lylat System.  The world did not wait for people to get strong.  It did not wait for people to weigh options.  No hesitation.  No mercy.  It was a tumbling series of challenges and one either rose to meet it or failed, burning out like a star that had tried to become what was beyond its reach.  Lenny was no different, pondered the former space pirate.  The scrapper’s hardened eyes betrayed little, but Wolf’s memory betrayed much more. 

            No one ended up on Eladard because they wanted to be there.  Even the adults were here by some cruel decree from some higher up in Corneria.  Even folk such as Leonard Nilo.  Time had hazed the details, but Wolf recalled hearing something about a family back home on Corneria.  Something about a little girl and an accident.  Something about the shift of the blame falling upon her booze-binging father.  Wolf sighed.  A necklace, it all made sense in its own melancholy way.

            The walk to the dormitory was brief but enough to feel the nip of Eladard’s breeze.  Wolf snuggled a bit further into his jacket, approaching the metal door and giving its rusted handle a hefty turn.  With a nasty, eerie creak, the door swung open and he stared down an old familiar room, its length somehow smaller than he had remembered.  Bunkbeds lined either sides, military style but the bars at the foot and headboard reminded Wolf of a prison. 

            “Yikes,” Andrew commented.

            “Is this place not often used?” Leon asked.

            “It is,” Wolf said with little reassurance in his voice. “But the people that usually stay out here have been off scrappin’.”

            “What does that even mean?” Andrew asked him, brows raised with curiosity.

            “Heh, you ever wonder how old junk shops get ship parts?  The scrappers go out to old wrecks and salvage whatever they can.  They patch up busted engines and hulls—things o’ that sort.  Then they resell.  Easy shit,” Wolf shrugged.

            “So isn’t that kind of stealing?” Andrew asked. “From the people that originally had the ships, that is.”

            “Most of them are dead.  Or abandoned.  Ain’t nobody goin’ back for the ships so… might as well make some use out of it.  And some cash,” Wolf shrugged.

            “It’s just how the game’s played,” Pigma chimed in, a twang of his own sorrow in his voice.  “It’s a tough world out there.  Sometimes people fly out, they don’t come back in.  Can find ‘em weeks later, frozen to death in space and still strapped into their cockpit.”

            “Pigma, you ever scrapped?” Wolf asked, ears perked.

            “Eh, once or twice between jobs for a guy outside o’ town,” Pigma shrugged.

            “He got a name?” Wolf asked.

            “Ehh he’s been dead for a few years,” Pigma said. “But his name was Ray Cowlet.”

            “Never heard o’ him,” Wolf said after a few moments of thought. “Probably wasn’t any good then.”

            “He wasn’t,” Pigma grinned from ear-to-ear.

            They stepped into the dormitory and slid the door shut, blotting out Lylat’s rays.  Wolf flicked on the light switch and as soon as the overhead lights buzzed on, he let out a sigh.  Nostalgia filled him as he walked among the bunkbeds, sweeping his gaze back and forth.  He stopped at the fourth one on the right, one of his claws tapping the metal and listening to the sound.

            “So are we actually gonna stay here?” Andrew asked.

            “Yeah,” Wolf looked back at him. “Just for the night.  I think you’ll survive.”

            Andrew looked doubtfully at the bunkbeds but said nothing in protest.  Instead, the one who voiced doubt was Leon, giving the room a quick look over with a wrinkled snout.  His thin arms crossed at his shallow chest, chin lifted in a picture of snobbish contempt. 

            “I think we have better chances of making it through the night outside,” Leon remarked. “Less chance to catch some disease from these beds.”

            “Then go outside,” Wolf said with a shrug. “If you get shanked in your sleep, don’t come cryin’ to me.”  He sat down on one of the beds, testing how much it sprung with a small, kiddish hop.  Its creak and moaning was beyond slightly alarming but it passed his test.  With a careless shrug, he plopped down onto the bed, resting his head on the hard-as-a-rock pillow. 

            _Feels just like home._

            He heard Andrew give a small groan as he sat down on one of the beds, its springs giving a shrill groan.  As the others began to settle in, picking through the beds and dropping what belongings they had decided to bring with them off the carrier onto the unswept floor, Wolf took a few deep breaths.  His nose twitched at the rust the bed smelled of, ancient memory stored within its mattress and within the metal of its frame.  He pondered how many unfortunate souls had slept on it, spent the nights tossing and turning as they adjusted to how it creaked at the slightest movement.  The noise used to keep him up for hours, but that was long ago.  Now each shuffle accompanied by the spring’s high-pitched cry felt like a bittersweet melody to his ears.

           Wolf gave a sigh, rolling onto his back and staring at the bottom of the bunk above him.  There were initials carved in—none that he could decipher their actual names.  His mind was foggy at the names of his comrades back in the day.  He silently hoped they were well—all of the good ones, at least.  No one deserved a life committed to scrapping anyways.  It was too rough on the body.  Too rough on the heart.

          “So what’s the battle plan?” Andrew asked, his shadow falling over Wolf.  The canine cracked open his eye, looking the ape over.  He was standing above him, arms crossed and hip jutting slightly to the side.

          “Gotta do recon.  Then we decide how to approach the ol’ baron,” Wolf said with a shrug, sitting up carefully as to not hit his head.

          “For the record, I don’t think this is worth it.  We could steal a ship back at the hanger for less of a hassle.  I don’t get why we’re helping that guy,” Andrew’s voice was sharp as a dagger.  Wolf’s lip curled at his tone, feeling mildly impressed that he was deigning to stand up for his opinions. 

_Too bad you got no idea, kid.  Steal a ship from an Eladardian… hah.  We’d be lucky to find one less shot up than our carrier.  Or worse._

          “That Lenny guy, I owe him for somethin’,” Wolf answered. “If ya want a sob story from me, you’re gonna have to remain disappointed.  It’s not something worth sharing.  Just some shit I got into when I was a kid.  I told him I was never comin’ back but if I ever saw him and he needed me, he could rely on me to get something done for him.”

          “And now you’re dragging us into it,” Andrew scowled.

          “You wanna go back to Corneria?” Wolf asked, not taming the growl rising in his throat.

          The inquiry gave Andrew pause, enough for Wolf to see into his troubled brown irises.  There was realization in them echoed by bitter acceptance.  Silent loathing burned at his pupils, so similar to the eyes of his uncle.  But unlike Andross, Andrew had not succumbed to madness, to his demons.  He still barely even knew they were there.  Wolf sighed, itching the fur behind his left ear. 

          “I can’t go back and I know that,” Andrew said after a small silence. “But I’m not gonna die on some junkyard planet because you suddenly have to settle a debt.”

          “Easy solution to that, kiddo,” Wolf snorted, a twisted smirk creasing his muzzle. “Don’t die.”

          "You’re unbelievable,” Andrew’s scowl only worsened in severity, each word oozing with potent venom. “Really.  I can’t believe I was excited to learn from the great pirate captain Wolfrik O’Donnell.  My uncle had so many great things to say about you and you’re just some second-rate pilot with more baggage and debt than you know what to do with.”

          He did not bite back the snarl that erupted from him.  Wolf rose, narrowly missing the edge of the bunk bed and looming to his full height, glaring down upon Andrew with his fangs bared at each word, “Keep talkin’.  No really, I wanna hear what some wet behind the ears whelp has to say about the situation we’re in.  I’m trying my best to keep us all alive the best way I know how.  You’d rather we run back into the fuckin’ oven to get blasted by Pepper’s grunts over… what?  Some revenge mission?  Do you even know what kind of situation we got here?  No.  You don’t.  Because you’re some fuckin’ wannabe that doesn’t know shit.”

          “Get outta my face, you piece of—” Andrew began, chest puffing.

          “Prove me wrong, kid!” Wolf snapped.  “Don’t just ride on your uncle’s rep, do something for yourself for a change!  Use that brain o’ yours and _think_!”

          “My uncle is _dead_ ,” Andrew growled. “There were thousands that believed in what he was doing was the right thing.  Thousands that understood that the Cornerians have to be taken out of power.  Look at this planet, Wolf, look at what they did to it.  You’re telling me that this is how things should be?  Just ‘cause my uncle is dead?  We shouldn’t have come here and you know it.  We should’ve turned back around, we could’ve rallied everyone again, we could’ve—”

          “Shut up.  Stop being so optimistic.  The world is fucked.  Eladard’s fucked, yeah, but we can be _not_ fucked if we play our cards right.  Everything is about survival,” Wolf’s fur was standing on end still, but the scathing snarl had dissipated gradually. “And I know you’re not the brightest fuckin’ laser beam in the fleet, but I’d have guessed you’d realize by now that any stupid revenge mission isn’t gonna work if you’re fucking _dead_.”

          “W-what are you even saying?” Andrew asked, brows raised.

          “I’m keepin’ us alive for now.  What happens when the heat’s died… well, that’s a story for another day,” Wolf said, his ears back and his sole violet eye set upon the would-be heir to Venom. 

          “A-are you saying…?” Wolf saw the glimmer of hope in Andrew’s eye. “Are you saying you want to help me…”

          “I never said that,” Wolf grumbled. “Hell, I don’t even know if this group will stay together.  We were commissioned to fight Corneria, we ain’t even a proper mercenary group.  I just want us to live long enough to make the choice when the time comes.  If we stick together or not.  But that’s a choice to be made later.  When we aren’t being chased across the damn galaxy by the Cornerians.”   When Andrew’s mouth began to open, Wolf jabbed a clawed finger at his chest. “But don’t mistake that for kindness.  Or some form of shitty sympathy.  We got safety in numbers, y’know.”

          Andrew studied him for a moment, his expression shifting.  Wolf could see his walls coming down, his passions relenting if only for a moment.  It gave the canine a swell of satisfaction in his chest, burning with smugness and dissolving into relief that the ape was going to drop the subject for the time being.  Wolf could honestly not say he wanted to try to tango with the Cornerians again—not in terms of serving in a full-scale war.  But that was something to be decided later.  Perhaps by the time that discussion came around, something would have come up about the remnants of Andross’s forces.  Wolf could only hope.

          “Fine,” Andrew’s bony shoulders heaved with a sigh. “I’ll play along for now.  But this conversation isn’t done, Wolf.  When we’ve got the ship repaired, we’re going to all talk about this.”

          “Whatever you say," Wolf said in turn, feeling content that the boy had at least given in for now.

          “If you two are done,” Leon said frostily.  Both Andrew and Wolf looked to the reptile, whose face was pressed into a frown of disapproval. “Then let us begin our mission, shall we?”

          “We’ll need someone to run recon on the baron’s mansion up the hill,” Wolf answered thoughtfully. “Leon, why don’t you handle that?”  There was something that burned in the reptile’s eyes and Wolf took silent note of it.

          “As you say,” Leon said with a shallow, curt nod.  He turned to leave at once, casting a glance over at where Pigma was settling in.  He was testing each bed on the row, flopping down ungracefully on each mattress and feeling how much it gave or stayed stiff.

          “I’m gonna check all the weapons and take stock.  If we need anything, I’ll run back to the carrier and grab it.  But I don’t think we will.  Simple in-and-out mission is how I think we’re gonna manage this,” Wolf said. “Andrew, go back to Lenny’s shop and see if you can’t get him to give us access to a few of his scrappin’ ships.  Pigma…” His eye strayed to the hog once more.

          “Ehh, I had an idea, actually,” Pigma sat up, looking over at Wolf. “I’ve got a few contacts here in Corona.  A few of ‘em that owe me money, too.  Maybe I can hit ‘em up, see if they won’t pay up.  Good to have funds, in case something goes to hell here.”

          “We’re already in hell.  But I agree.  Go ahead,” Wolf said dismissively.  When the others had left and the humming silence was all he could hear, he settled down into a sitting position on the bed, breathing out what remained of his broiling anger from before.  Without thinking, his hand moved to his eyepatch, feeling the fabric under his fingertips.  They scoured upwards, into his fur at the start of canals that had been driven into his eye.  He touched the old beginnings of his scars pensively, the stillness tickling the nerves down his neck.  With apprehension, his fingers crawled beneath his patch, feeling each of the three identical rivets in his face with morbid curiosity.  It had happened so long ago but it felt like it was just yesterday.

_It's nothing personal.  Just business._

          It didn’t feel like just business this time and Wolf hated it.  He hated the way his emotions tied themselves to Eladard, to the self-proclaimed baron, to even old sour Lenny Nile.  He loathed the way that Andrew looked at him, fiery with hope that could not be quenched without a hard lesson from life.  It felt so familiar that his stomach twisted into a knot with remembrance.

          Wolf tore himself away from his thoughts, busying his hands with each weapon he had brought with him from the ship.  Mostly, they were blasters set to kill.  Stunning an enemy was only ideal if you wanted them alive and Wolf lived in a world of black and white judgment—there were people that wanted to kill him and people that found use in him being alive.  There was no reason to set it to stun.  If there was someone coming at him, Wolf had no remorse in snuffing their light out.

          He cleaned the weapons, taking stock silently and grimly understanding that they were low on explosives and shields.  It would be hard to find the latter in Eladard.  A cynical part of Wolf mused that one only needed a shield if they suspected they were going to get caught.  He snorted softly into the silence, packing up the weapons and opting to venture out to the washroom.  He plodded past the lines of urinals and stalls, their white porcelain-like seats stained a suspicious pale yellow.  A grungy stench rested in the room and he pushed past it into the showering area.  The stalls were doorless, equipped with a single shower head and nothing more.  He told himself a warm shower might evoke some thought and so he stripped, pulling off even his eyepatch, and sidled in, playing with the knobs until they finally yielded water.

          The sting of cold water washing over him sucked the air from his lungs but he remained under the head, furiously turning the knobs until he realized that the hot water would likely never come.  Heavily disgruntled, the canine stepped from the stall, dripping wet.  He gave his fur a shake, ears perking up despite the burden of water clinging to his sleek gray coat.  With swearwords muttered under his breath, he turned in time to see Leon standing in the doorway, his large eyes bugged out somehow even more.

          “What the—” Wolf began, grabbing his coat to hold over himself.

          “S-sorry…” Leon turned quickly away, clutching his bony hands behind his back in a manner that reminded Wolf of a child.  “I was unsure of what was transpiring back here…”

          “Can’t a man take a shower in peace?” Wolf grumbled.  As he began to slide back into his pants and under garments, he shot the reptile a scowl of disapproval, though could not deny the warmth eating under his fur at the back of his neck.  “You can turn around.”

          When Leon did, Wolf could see the scarlet hue in the lizard’s scales, just beneath the eyes and at the cheeks.  But the Kewian spoke nothing of it, standing at the attention. “I have returned from my reconnaissance.”

          “Alright.  I trust you have urgent information if you’re buggin’ me like this?” Wolf asked warily.

          “I do, but it is not about the reconnaissance mission,” Leon said as Wolf pulled his shirt on over his head.   “I looked into the communication logs, as you ordered.  It seems there were a few encrypted codes that were launched prior to us being attacked.”

          “How long before we were attacked?” Wolf asked.

          “Two Cornerian hours,” Leon said. “Enough time for the Cornerians to divert their path and hyperspeed to our location, if they were near Venom.”

          “Interesting,” Wolf mused darkly. “And from whose terminal did these encrypted messages get released?”

          “Pigma’s,” Leon said. “Just as you suspected.”

_I sent him away to speak with his contacts.  No doubt he went to tell the Cornerians where we are._

          “Where is Pigma now?” Leon pressed.

          “He’s speaking with some of his old friends,” Wolf replied, pulling his overcoat on. “He seemed to think he could get some money or somethin’ from them.”

          “Do you not find that troubling?” Leon asked with surprise.

          “There’s no doubt in my mind he’s trying to sell us out,” Wolf said, his violet gaze so fierce that even Leon seemed to wither beneath it.  It took a moment for the canine to realize he had not put his eyepatch back on.  With no small amount of self-consciousness, he plucked it from the nearby bench and put it on, securing it over where he had been mauled years ago, leaving behind a milky-white eye and scars that disfigured the area around his socket.  As if nothing had happened, Wolf continued, “He’ll wait ‘til we’re done with the mission, though.  Mansion’s like that got loot in it, y’see.  He’ll snag some of it and run, bleatin’ to the Cornerians, tellin’ them where we are and how they can get us.”

          “How do you know?” Leon inquired darkly. “Should we not kill him?”

          He strapped on his belt then went to start buckling his boots back on.  There were thoughts buzzing about his mind, but he shoved them aside, making way for clarity.  Wolf’s chest seemed to deflate with an exhale. “I don’t tolerate traitors.  You should know that.  He’ll get what’s comin’.  Don’t you worry.”


	4. Where There's Smoke

            Wolf had not dreamed in years; not that he could remember, at least.  The flight from Katina to Sector Z was in his mind often as of late, hearing the screams of his crew as their ships crashed into oblivion, burning like stars falling from the heavens.  The abyss became water and Wolf blinked to find himself standing on Zoness’s shores, letting the water lap his ankles.  He heard the cocking of a pistol, its barrel glaring at his back.  He felt the shackles upon his wrists, dragged to that lonely cell that Leon had helped him escape.  He felt the absence of freedom in his lungs and the weight of the chains they had bound him with.  His hands were locked into place, metal scraping his wrists.  Ghosts teased him in the form of shapeless wisps, dancing about the prison cell in the moonlight and shadows.  His single violet eye could not look at them, not until they converged before him, twisting into a familiar silhouette.  When he realized what they had become, his scars burned and he threw himself out of slumber, nearly falling out of his bunk in the process.

            Moonlight streamed through the barred window, filtered only by the grime no one had bothered to clean off the glass in years.  Bare-chested, Wolf rose from his bunk, scratching beneath his collarbone.  He did not even bother to don his boots—he made for the door, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket along with his lighter.  In all honesty, he wished he could have said he was tired but it would have been a lie.  His heart thrummed with the lingering effects of fear, which was rapidly molding into bitter resentment. 

            Cigarette lit, he leaned against one of the posts supporting the scrapper’s dorm, his single-eyed gaze set on nothing in particular.  Every touch, every scent of Eladard was like a wine that had not aged well—sour to the taste and full of regrets.  Wolf took a long drag from his cigarette, puffing it out with a drawn-out exhale.  He hated coming back but it had been the only option he could think to do; Tala and Ralph were lifetimes apart from where he was now, likely living respectable lives and shedding their cursed surname to distance themselves from their criminal brother.  Wolf could not say he blamed them.  He had been on the wrong side of the war, after all.

            But it was not thoughts of his siblings that stirred him; his keen ears detected the sound of something _thunking_ rather repetitively somewhere in the distance.  He swiveled them, hearing that the culprit was somewhere behind a massive pile of old wing parts.  Words drifted in the air, brushing his ears and spoken by a familiar voice.  Curiosity piqued, Wolf wandered over, cigarette jutting from his lips. 

            “… Remember this—the truth of the Lylat System is not what they have told you.  They will make you answer for sins you did not commit.  And they will make you bleed when you stand up against their false accusations.  When that happens, you must listen to the voices of your ancestors, for they are all around.  I will show you how to listen to them.”

            _Andross?_

            Ears perked, he crept closer, peering around a heap of scrap metal to see Andrew’s back.  His face was illuminated by blue light, originating from a small cube device resting in one hand.  From it, Wolf could see part of Andross’s face—untouched by madness and his beard only containing a few salted grey strands. 

            _Is that… a hologram?_

Wolf tried to maintain his silence, but a fly buzzing by his snout betrayed him.  He huffed at it, trying to blow it away. 

            “Feel the earth under your feet and the wind in the air.  Plant your feet a ways apart—” Andross’s accented voice was explaining when Andrew whirled around, eyes stretched wide.  His other hand held a rather unimpressive looking rock.

_Ahhh shit, just when it was gettin’ good…_

            “Ehhh, hi?” Wolf asked.  “What’re you doing out here?”

            Andrew looked guilty as charged, bags resting under his amber eyes and a simple stone largely enveloped in his left palm.  His tail curled back and he tried to conceal the rock from Wolf, tucking it into his armpit.  The young simian cleared his throat, straightening his posture.

            “Can I… help you…?” Andrew asked, folding his arms across his chest in an awkward, definitely suspicious fashion.  His tone seemed flat as a glass of soda left on the counter for far too long, his gaze dodgy.

_Do I ask?  Eh… probably one of those garbage sentimental things… Better not pry too hard.  I don’t want anybody cryin’ on me._

            “Probably not,” Wolf admitted, one of his ragged, notched ears flitting to the side. “You playing ‘Stones’, kid?”

            “What’s ‘Stones’?” Andrew asked.

            “Ugh, spoken like a Cornerian,” Wolf shook his head. “On Macbeth, we didn’t have fancy gadgets an’ shit.  We had to make our own fun.” 

            “It’s not like I had any of those things either,” Andrew retorted, but his spitfire confidence withered into tear-less anguish.  An alien side of Wolf arose to the novice’s tide of emotions, feeling an urge of parental protection that was quickly snuffed out by his logical, realistic side.  The boy was going to have to adapt sooner or later.

            “Well, if you’re not playing Stones, then what’re you doin’?” Wolf asked, puffing out his cigarette smoke into the night air.

            “Don’t worry about it,” Andrew scowled.

            “Okay, then I won’t,” Wolf gave a careless shrug and began to walk away. 

            “ _Wait_.”

            Wolf felt the fur prickle on the back of his neck, the hint of a smirk playing about his lips. 

             “I thought you were from Papetoon?” Andrew asked him.

            “I was born on Macbeth, raised on Papetoon an’ one o’ the space colonies.  I eh… I got _moved_ a lot,” Wolf answered, glancing back at him.  The information slipped out before he could check himself and he inwardly chided how his heart had softened.  Disgusted at himself, he turned away from the heir to Venom’s shattered throne, shoving his hands into his pockets.  Nonchalantly, he added, “But who knows, maybe it was good for me.  Seein’ the Lylat System for what it _really_ was at such a young age left little room for disappointment.”

            “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Andrew asked scornfully.

            “Means the world doesn’t wait for people to pick themselves up off the ground, kid,” Wolf replied, taking two steps to leave Andrew to… whatever it was he was doing.  The taste of his cigarette did little to get rid of the bitterness he felt but it at least took off the edge.  A finger tapped off the ash from its tip and he puffed out the smoke into the darkened sky. 

            “But don’t you ever get tired of nothing going your way?” Andrew’s voice cut through Wolf like a knife through butter.

He felt something in the core of his soul stir.  It was ancient, forgotten under layers of suppression and the desire to forget.  His expression never changed, though a sharp inhale betrayed the perceived aloofness he had desired to maintain.  At some point, he had crossed the line of no return, and he could not have asked himself where that was.  Had it been on Macbeth, when his aunt had come to collect him and his siblings from their parents?  Had it been on Papetoon, when they had left country life for the big, dazzling lights of Area 5’s space colony?  Had it been the day he had fled Eladard…?  Somewhere in the hazy past, he had begun the journey that had led him to this moment—on the run for war crimes and treason, stuck on a desolate rock in space, possibly on the verge of being betrayed by one of his own wingmen. 

            _Do I ever get tired of it?_   _Yes, but I put those feelings aside long ago._

            “That’s life, kid,” Wolf said callously in reply. “You make do with whatcha got.”

            “That’s some shitty advice from a former space pirate,” Andrew shot back, his temper flaring.

            “It’s not comin’ from me as a space pirate,” Wolf scoffed, glancing back at him with a single, moonlit violet eye.  “Anyways, I ain’t out here to shoot the shit with ya.  Go to bed or you’re gonna regret it in the morning.  I don’t want some half-awake dipshit tryin’ to do mission work.”

            “Ugh,” Andrew sighed and Wolf did not stick around to see if he cared enough to follow him back. 

            He snuffed his cigarette and laid back down into the bed, crossing his legs at the ankle.  Though the nights of Eladard were far from warm, he did not bother to snuggle into the ratty blanket he had largely cast onto the floor.  With the lingering aftertaste of his cigarette still dancing over his tongue, he closed his eye and took in a few deep breaths.  Laying down emphasized the way his heart rattled in his ribcage, thumping like a frantic metronome.  Dark ears back, he let his left hand rest over his chest, trying to will calmness into his body.  His seduction to sleep was gradual, lured in with the sensation of falling.  This time, he did not dream; he slid into the comfort of dark nothingness, slumbering until the first rays of light shone through the window.

            By the time Wolf willed his eye open, Leon was already ready to go.  He had donned a dark outfit that clung well to his body, outlining his delicate frame.  Sleeves cut off at the shoulder, his arms were exposed and revealed a series of vivid swirled tattoos.  Their colors ranged from sunny yellow to sky blue.  Crimson was interwoven into them in such an intricate design that Wolf lost himself in its complication. 

            _Wonder what it means… Kew must really be a different kind of place._

            Leon caught his eye as he donned his dusted overcoat, its tail nearly sweeping the filthy floor.  He said nothing to Wolf; instead, he found a chair nearby, pulled out one of his knives, and began testing its edge with a careful thumb.  By the time Wolf rose from bed and had slid on a shirt, he was the second-to-last person up.  Pigma had wandered off to the showers and Andrew was a curled mass under his blankets. 

            “Breakfast, then we’re hittin’ the drawin’ board,” Wolf announced to no one in particular, still shaking the sleepiness from himself.  “I know Lenny ain’t cookin’ shit for us so we’ll have to find somethin’ in town.”

            “A bar?” Leon asked and Wolf had to remind himself that bars had not necessarily been a frequent sight on the lizard’s home world.

            “Whiskey for breakfast, sounds good,” Wolf replied with a small chortle. “What do ya say to that, Andrew?”

            No reply.        

            “C’mon, kid, get up.  We don’t got all mornin’,” Wolf wandered over to the simian’s bed.  He had completely covered himself with blankets, tucked onto his side with only a small tuft of white fur sticking out from beneath the covers.  For a moment, Wolf contemplated the temperature of the room—it certainly had not gotten that cold last night, but it certainly had not been warm either.  Andrew’s pile of blankets sent up a mental red flag.

            Claws nearly ripping through the blankets, Wolf ripped them away, exposing a few torn pillows.  Their white cotton stuck out of various holes made throughout the years of their use.  The blankets fell to the ground and Wolf did not care enough to pick them back up.  His head jerked Leon’s way, and voice reverberating with surprise and seriousness, he asked, “Did you hear him come in last night?”

            “No,” Leon answered with a slight bow of his head.

_He never came in after I told him to._

            “Maybe he has gone into town?  Maybe he will be back?” Leon suggested, but a slight quiver of uncertainty told Wolf that the lizard did not believe his own words.

            “Ugh, let him go, I guess.  He’ll get eaten alive out there,” Wolf waved his hand. “No sweat off my back.”  It was a lie and Leon’s pressing glare called him out on it.  Much like Wolf, the lithe assassin knew that being down a man for this mission was going to hurt their chances significantly.  An extra gun, even an untrained one, was better than nothing. 

            The plodding of hooves on tile alerted Wolf to Pigma’s arrival; the plump mercenary was wearing scarcely anything but a towel around his hips.  He stood proudly in the doorway, quite shameless.  There was a surprisingly large mop of hair on his chest, making up for his baldness on top.  A few scars decorated his torso, telling of close-calls and adventures that the sly hog would never give up.  Despite his evident over-eating, there were traces of muscles in his arms—the ghost of strengthened abs in his torso.  Wolf supposed he was old enough to have served in the military, perhaps even in the Civil War—but something about the way the hog carried himself made Wolf think he had never done a day of honest work in his life.  He reeked with experience just as much as he did greed.

            _He sold his best friends to a madman; just think of what he’d do to us if he had the chance…_

“What’s all the jabberin’ about?” Pigma asked, a few droplets cascading down his burly chest.  “Somethin’ happen?”

            “Andrew’s gone,” Wolf informed him, studying his lack of surprise. “… Ya know somethin’ about that?”

            “Oh sure I do,” Pigma answered nonchalantly. “Asked me to borrow some guns an’ stuff, so I gave him our uh… oh, our sniper rifle, a pistol, a blaster… Few o’ them grenade thingies…” He listed the items off, counting on each finger as he went.

            “You gave him _what_?” Wolf asked, flabbergasted.

            _Gimping our mission so soon?  I didn’t expect that._

“He said he’d come right back,” Pigma replied innocently with a shrug.

            “And you _believed_ him?” Wolf asked, feeling sparks of anger in the tips of his fingers, winding their way through his arms.  It was all he could do to not throttle the hog—but for the mission’s sake, he bit back his rage and scratched his chin furiously.

            “Why wouldn’t I?  We’re teammates aren’t we?  We’re all friends here, right?” Pigma shrugged, his voice honey-sweet and disarming.  His silver eyes sparkled with a false kindness that made Wolf sick to his stomach. 

            “Are you going to put on some clothes?” Leon asked sourly to the hog, whose towel was suspiciously close to slipping in the front.

            “Heh, don’t like what you see?” Pigma jabbed at the reptile, a wry smirk about his snout. “I s’pose that ain’t surprisin’… I hear your tastes are more… _wolfish_ these days.”

            Leon fell silent but there was no mistaking the slight twitch in his left eye.  He was furious and his anger was only thinly veiled by his stoic nature.  His fingers clasped each other, knuckles paling.  Wolf wondered if he was envisioning Pigma’s girthy throat in his grasp.

            “The hell you on about?” Wolf asked Pigma, narrowing his violet eye at him. 

            “It don’t matter.  Now, we lookin’ fer Andrew or are we gettin’ down to the biz?  The sooner we’re off this junkyard, the sooner we can figure out what we doin’ next,” Pigma scratched his snout and began rummaging through what little spare clothes he had left.

            _You mean… the sooner you get to sell us out, you traitorous shit…_

            “Put some goddamn pants on and let’s go.  I want my weapons back,” Wolf huffed.  He slipped on his overcoat, fastened his belt and slung his blaster into its holster.  A strange stirring in his gut told him to grab a barrier and so he did, clipping it to his wrist for use later.

            When they went to hit the streets, they passed by Lenny’s shop.  A gander into the window and Wolf saw the old croc talking fervently with a customer—a hyena man with a ruffled mohawk, tired eyes, and a patchy looking suit.  Wolf did not stare; he did not want to attract any more attention than he needed to.  By the time they reached the street, Lylat’s warmth had settled on the road.  The shade was the desirable hangout spot for the lowlifes that could not afford a roof over their head.  He felt their eyes upon him, judgmental and scouring for opportunity.  A flaw, a sign of weakness, and they would pounce from the shadows and reap what they could.  Some of them were skeletal, wearing sacks for clothing and accompanied by flies and fleas.  Some of them were old, many of them were young—workers for the mines that had gone out of business and now they were left here to wither away.

            “Some of these people would fare better on Venom,” Leon remarked in a low voice.

            “Y’mean get poisoned by the air an’ die in five minutes?” Pigma asked with a cocked brow.

            “A swift, merciful death compared to this,” Leon responded blandly.

            “What a strangely kind thing fer you to say, Leon,” Pigma snorted.

            A one-eyed glare shot at the bickering duo silenced them, but Wolf could see Leon’s brewing malice towards the hog in the finest traces of the lizard’s face.  Brow slightly furrowed, the lithe assassin kept his head faced forward but a sly side-eye in Pigma’s direction betrayed his silence.  Wolf pressed onward, sliding ahead of his teammates by a half-pace.  The thought of Pigma being behind him made his skin prickle with mistrust but knowing Leon was there to eased his nerves.  He knew the boorish merc was fast but the stoic assassin was far faster.

            Shouts caught his tattered ears and one of them swiveled in the direction of the screams.  Their origin he could not decipher, not until the doors were suddenly flung open up ahead of the dusty road they were walking.  Not a moment later, a blur of brown, white, and crimson was systematically ejected from within the building—a rustic bar with a broken sign.  It read the words “The Comet’s Trail” but the ‘r’ had fallen off, leaving the name “The Comet’s Tail”.  Wolf could not remember the sign ever being spelled properly.  He could, however, remember the bar being a frequent hangout spot for Archie’s crew.

            “Andrew?” Pigma piped up, breaking Wolf’s thoughts.  His violet eye swung to the heap of white fur and bloodsplatter on the ground.

Andrew lay there, nose bloodied and a cut under one eye.  He groaned as he stood up, grabbing his forehead with one hand.  The simian gnashed his teeth, baring them in a savage snarl.  A guttural growl emanated from him, accompanied by the display of his polished incisors.  But before he could snap anything back at his aggressors, a voice thundered from within the bar.

            “And stay out, ya damn shit!  We don’t deal wit’ the apes, not since ya lost the damn war!”

            _Oh for fuck’s sake…_

“S-say what you want… My uncle’s dream will never die!  Not until the Cornerians have paid for what they did!” Andrew shot back, drool from the corner of his mouth mixing with the blood adorning his face.  “We’ll rise again!  I swear it!”

            The closer Wolf drew to the screeching monkey, the more he could scent the alcohol-ridden perfume that surrounded him.  His snout wrinkled with disgust, but his gaze landed on the person Andrew was yelling at.  As soon as Wolf caught sight of the bouncer, he forced back a gasp, stifling it with a low growl that rumbled in the back of his throat.  His claws dug into his own skin as his hands became fists at his sides.

            Lumbering in the doorway was a rhinoceros, his horn missing and a scar over his brow.  His maroon coat with a nefarious-looking bear claw insignia marked him as one of Archie’s goons—not like it mattered to Wolf, who recognized the man in an instant from the not-so-good-old-days. 

            “Get up,” Wolf reached down to grab Andrew’s collar but the drunken ape swatted him away.

            “No!  Dun do it, Wolf, I got ‘em.  I got ‘em this time… watch me…” Andrew fumbled, trying to rise on his own but failing miserably.  He landed on his bum with a tiny, shrill yelp and a moan.

            “You drunk ass,” Wolf huffed at him. “What have ya gotten yerself into?”

            “Wolf?” the rhino was staring him up and down, itching at his broad scar. “As in… _The_ Wolf?”

            “ _The_ Wolf?” Pigma asked, clearly intrigued.

            _Oh fucking hell…_

Fur bristling on his nape, the former space pirate locked glares with Archie’s goon.  Left hand slowly straying towards his blaster, he watched the awe and surprise wash over the scarred rhino.  Shoulders heaving with a sigh, Wolf mentally kissed a bitter goodbye to any signs of storming Archie’s mansion undetected, fearing what Lenny would say when word inevitably broke that he had returned in full.

            _I know, Lenny,_ Wolf said to the conversation he had created.   _I wasn’t careful enough._

“I _do_ remember ya,” the rhino said, and then hollered over his shoulder.  “Hey!  Boys!  Looky what we got here!  It’s Wolfrik O’Donnell.”  Animosity incarnate overran the rhino’s rugged features, a smirk creeping onto his fat lips. “Oh boy has the Boss got a bone to pick with _you_.”

            “Yeah, well,” Wolf replied.  The shadows were starting to stir with interest from the scum that lived in them, their attention crawling over him.  He was being picked apart, judged by the streetrats that were cursed to their slow death on Eladard.  He hoped he did not disappoint them nor the reputation he had built.  “… I don’t really feel like chattin’ with him.  Ya feel?”

            Even from behind the rhino’s hulking frame, Wolf could see the other goons gathering, their attention drawn away from their drinks.  There would be no contest in terms of numbers; the Comet’s Trail had always been one of Archie’s bars.  His men would flock there when they were not on-duty and even sometimes when they _were_ on duty, stumbling about drunk afterwards and waving their guns wherever they pleased. 

Leon’s urgent voice broke Wolf’s growing panic, “What do we do?”

            _I don’t have any answers to give._

            “We get ready to blow their heads off,” Pigma’s cackle was soft but fringed with bloodlust.

“Don’t matter what ya feel like,” the rhino said, fishing a gun out from his belt. “Yer gonna come wit’ us.  We got strict orders an’ shit ta bring ya back -- _alive_.  But it don’t say nothin’ ‘bout yer buddies.”

            “Leon, Pigma,” Wolf began in a low voice.  The lizard was so close that Wolf could feel the tautness of his anticipation, his violent drive. “ _Kill ‘em_.”

            As the rhino fired at him and the ungracefully sprawled-out Andrew, Wolf hit the barrier device he had clipped to his wrist.  The laser fire bounced off harmlessly and Wolf grabbed Andrew by the scruff, pulling him back with a bestial snarl. “Get outta here, kid!”

            “I can fight!” Andrew protested, words slurred and sloppy.  He pushed himself up from the dirt,

            “You can barely stand!” Wolf snapped back.

            Already the enemy’s fire was beginning to weaken the shield, causing it to flicker.  Leon had skirted around the side in an attempt to flank the hired goons but they retreated into the safety of the bar’s doorframe.  Pigma’s hefty laser fire did nothing but barrel holes into the building, his aim as horrendous as his laugh.  Andrew’s sweaty palms clasped Wolf’s ankles, his hands trying to find leverage to rise in the pockets of the canine’s jacket.  But as he tried to pull himself up, his added weight caused Wolf to lose his footing.  He regained it swiftly, growling at the drunken simian.

            “Get offa me!” snapped Wolf at Andrew, who stubbornly clung onto the overcoat.

            “I got this, I got this!” Andrew tried to reassure him but Wolf was far from convinced.  He grabbed the monkey by the collar, dragging him into cover behind the building’s side wall.

            “Yer gonna stay put and yer gonna like it!” He felt like he was scolding a child.  There was a vague glisten in the heir’s amber eyes, though Wolf chalked it up to irritation from the dust that their flight had kicked up.

            “But Wolf—” Andrew began.

            Wolf did not bother to give the heir a chance to speak; he drew his blaster and peered around the corner.  From what he could see, Pigma had taken up a spot behind a collection of crates sitting across the dirty old road.  Leon had vanished somewhere in the fight and the doorway seemed to be alight with lasers being fired off.  Their reach grazed the crates Pigma was sitting behind, yet the hog did not seem disturbed in the slightest.  His pale eyes met Wolf’s gaze for a moment and he gave a cheesy grin, a sloppy salute, and stepped from around the pile of crates.  Despite his weight, he moved with extreme speed, their gunfire trained on him as he moved to cover further away from Wolf.

_How nice of him to be the distraction for once._

            With the tap of his finger, Wolf reactivated his barrier and stepped clear from his cover.  Clinging to the front of the building, he ducked when he heard the charging noise of a laser.  Glass from a nearby window caressed the protective shield around him, spraying the broken cement.  He crouched as he neared the open doorway, poking his head around the corner in time to see Leon leap from the ceiling rafters and onto an unsuspecting victim at the back of the room.  All attention was directed to the assassin and his blades, which had found new sheaths in the skull of an unfortunate hired gun. 

            _I’ll never know how he does it,_ Wolf thought with a small chuckle, opening fire in the room at the closest goon.  The guard fell and his friend followed.  When the front half of the room realized what was going on, they began to open fire.  Barrier flickering, Wolf took advantage of his last few seconds of safety by diving behind a table, kicking it up and using it as a shield the moment that his protection wore off.

            _We don’t have the advantage in numbers but Archie would eat his own shit before giving fuckos like this decent tech for a fight.  They’re probably running old blasters from before the war._

“Get ‘em!” someone shouted, tearing Wolf from his thoughts.  Keeping as low as he could, he fired off a few shots at the incoming guards.  He caught glimpses of Leon, who had swapped his daggers for a set of dual pistols, their small lasers burning through the henchmen with relative ease. 

            Wolf ducked back behind table, checking his blaster to make sure it was good to continue before peering back over the table.  When he popped back up, his nose collided into something that felt both hard… and yet warm and squishy.  Instincts howled at him to draw back and so he did, leaping back and letting the table fall over to expose him.  The rhino from before loomed over him, equipped not with a blaster but with a mace that crackled with energy at its spiked head.

            _What the everlasting—_

He did not even have time to finish his thoughts; the rhino swung and Wolf would have been remiss to not duck.  With a yelp of surprise, he threw himself to the ground, the buzzing spiked mace zipping overhead.  His blaster in hand, he fired up at his opponent—every shot somehow failing to hit anything but the ceiling.  Momentum gave Wolf enough time to scramble back and the rhino’s mace crashed down at where the canine had once been laying on the ground.  Fear and adrenaline got Wolf onto his feet again, his coat stained with spilled beer and flecked with crimson.  The rhino charged, his sparking mace overhead.  Wolf dodged to the right, leaping onto a table.  The mace collided into the ground with such a force that Wolf could feel it in his boots. 

            Wolf fired upon the rhino, striking him in his burly shoulder.  Enraged, the goon whirled around, his mace a blur of sparking blue and silver.  Wolf felt time tick slowly as the mace crashed into the table he was standing on.  His leap backwards had been a fraction of a second too late and he was falling.  The sickening crackle of wood breaking confirmed that the table had been decimated and his vision was filled with the sight of the stained ceiling. When he hit the ground, his breath escaped his agape mouth, his head hitting against the creaking wooden floor.

            His vision flashed for a moment, turning to white nothingness.  He was not sure how much time had passed when he could see again.  The ceiling seemed the same—burnt by astray lasers and marred by various pale liquids that made Wolf want to gag.  His head was throbbing and the sounds around him faded in and out for a few painstaking seconds before clarity finally took him into its grasp.  He gasped for air.  

            “How’s it feel?” he could hear the rhino goon saying, his feet thudding against the rubble he had caused.  “How’s it feel to know yer gonna die here?  Once the Boss is done wit’ ya… There ain’t gonna be nothin’ left!”

             By the time Wolf had recovered enough to tilt his head up, the rhino was almost upon him.  Blood gently oozed from the wound in his shoulder, splattering the ground.  He hit a switch on his mace and the spikes retracted to make the weapon form a club. 

            _Ugh, get up… C’mon, I’m not that old yet…!_

Wolf tried to rise, feeling a jab of pain in his leg.  A quick glance and he saw a splinter of wood jutting from his calf.  Sucking in a breath, he reached for his gun but knew the odds were stacked against him.  His pointer finger brushed his blaster’s handle, nudging it just out of his reach.  Pain began to awaken each nerve in his body and he winced.

            “I heard what ya did, y’know.  Errybody in the Boss’s team knows what ya did,” the rhino continued, looming over Wolf with his club in hand.  Its head hummed threateningly, electricity dancing about with the promises of pain in its tune. “It was a mistake comin’ here!  And now yer gonna— _augh!?  What the—_ ”

            The rhino had stopped moving, his arms frozen in time solid.  Eyes flailing wildly about, his words became choked and forced. “W-what’s…what’s happening…!?”

            The chaos stilled in an instant; eerie silence usurping the cacophony.  He could not even hear death take the ones who were dying—their screams had gone quiet and the Eladardian heat seemed to have been temporarily banished.  A cold draft tickled his fur, but it did not feel natural.  His head snapped in the direction of the bar’s front door, which had been blown off its hinges and lay somewhere in the street. 

            Andrew stood in the doorway, his eyes glowing as bright as a nebula in the depths of space.  An aura had surrounded him, blowing like a tornado with the young heir at its center. His hands were positioned in front of him, fingers tightened and bent like those of a puppeteer. The sight of it made Wolf abandon logic; he could not say what the monkey was doing, but he could feel in his bones that something was _happening_. Veiled in thin violet light, Andrew Oikonny screamed, “ _Now!_ ”

            Behind the rhino, the windows shattered and the wall disappeared in an explosion of dust.  The sound of an engine revving caused Wolf’s ears to perk and where the wall and rhino guard had once been, he saw the metallic nose of a vehicle, its tip just a few feet from the soles of Wolf’s boots.

_That was too damn close for comfort…_

            “Get in!” Pigma waved from the passenger seat of the vehicle—a speeder that Wolf identified was commonly used for long-distance travel.  Its bear claw insignia made his skin crawl beneath his fur but he did not need to be told twice.  He ran for the speeder, jumping and latching on to its side. 

            Leon made a dash for the speeder, a spray of laser fire dancing about him from the pitiful remaining amount of guards.  Wolf returned their attacks with a few of his own, careful to aim around the fleeing Leon.  Only when the lizard and monkey had both latched on did Pigma throw the speeder into reverse, zipping haphazardly backwards until they had cleared out of the bar.

            Andrew, the aura about him having vanished, climbed into the seat next to Pigma, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. Leon had lost a pistol somewhere in the skirmish but was happy firing back at the henchmen that gave chase.  Wolf sheathed his blaster, feeling spikes of pain trail up his calf and into his thigh.  He pulled himself ungracefully into the back seat, hissing moodily as he began to inspect his wounds.

            “Get us back to Lenny’s,” Andrew said to Pigma.

            “No!  Damn it, are you stupid?” Wolf snapped. “Cover’s been blown.  They’ll know to look there.  Make for the outskirts.  We’ll have to lay low for a bit until the heat’s died off.”

            “Do ya got a place in mind?” Pigma asked with a snort, dodging around a few pedestrians and hitting the accelerate to zip around some clustered crates that had been abandoned on the road. 

            “Yeah,” Wolf answered. “Just go north.  I’ll tell you where to turn off.”

            “What about our stuff?” Andrew asked him.  His dark amber eyes were normal now, but Wolf could not shake the image of how they had glowed from his mind. 

            “We’ll have to do without,” Wolf said with the shake of his head.

            “So much for secrecy and being covert,” Leon chimed in moodily, sliding into the back and landing uncomfortably close to Wolf.  He edged away from the canine quickly, though his keen eye took note of his leader’s wound. “We will need to get that looked at.”

            “Heh.  Your concern is touchin’, Leon.  How’d you do?  You don’t seem hurt,” Wolf looked the reptile over.

            “A few scratches.  But I was lucky.  They were bad shots,” Leon answered.

            “How ‘bout you two?” Wolf asked Andrew and Pigma, his hand clapping the head of the seat in front of him.  He hesitated to ask the displaced heir about what he had done, words failing him as he stared through the back of the monkey’s head.  In the end, Wolf let his mouth close, exhaling brusquely through his nostrils.

_That’s twice now that he’s saved me._

            “We’re all good over here,” Pigma replied with a savage grin.

            “I’m fine,” Andrew answered hurriedly, but there was no denying the exhaustion eating away under his eyes, seeping into the shadows of his pink cheeks.  His drunkenness had worn off, fading into what Wolf assumed was a faint hangover. 

            “So what exactly was yer plan there, bucko?” Wolf asked, resting back into his chair.  He gave a small wince at the pain in his leg, mulling darkly over how they were going to extract the splinter carefully. 

            “I went to the local bar to get information.  Doesn’t everyone do that?” Andrew asked and Pigma stifled snort-filled laughter.

            “I mean, if ya wanna die, ya walk into bars like that.  Geesh, who taught this kid?” Wolf remarked sourly.

            “You did,” Leon pointed out.

            One of Wolf’s ears flitted back, “I don’t recall teachin’ him to be a dumbass.”  He could feel Andrew’s tension from where he sat, wondering if his words had perhaps been too harsh. Wolf considered Andrew’s help for a moment, weighing his failures against his successes with a scrutinizing eye.  It all boiled down to logic—and he felt the ape was sorely lacking in that department.

_He’ll get there.  Someday.  Maybe._

            “But all shitty choices aside, ya did good with yer um…” Wolf began, freezing when he realized he had brought up the strangeness of his rescue.  “… _Timing_.  Yes, yer timing was real good.”

            “T-thanks,” Andrew said awkwardly.

            “Aww such the modest one!” Pigma cackled.

            “My head hurts,” Andrew complained.

            “Heh!  Baby’s first hangover,” Wolf smirked.  “Well, I guess we’ll have to keep it down.  Pigma, take the first right fork as soon as we leave city limits.  Leon, I’m gonna need yer help.”

            “With what?” Leon asked, scaly brows raised.

            Wolf could not suppress the bitter smile winding its way across his scruffy snout.  “Yer gonna help me pull this shit outta my leg.”


	5. The Silent Confessional

           In the same fashion as metal, Eladard had rusted over time.  A scan across the barren horizon told Wolf enough; the Cornerians had reaped what they could and had abandoned ship the moment that the planet’s wealth had been depleted.  Abandoned factories dotted the flatlands, their lights permanently turned off and their structures crumbling from lack of care.  They were the only thing to disrupt the arid plains.  Otherwise, the world stretched out as far as the eye could see, providing little to no cover.  No signs of wildlife made the planet carry an uneasy aura; Wolf marveled at how utterly dead the planet was.  But, he supposed, that was how Corneria ran the Lylat System.  They came, they took, they left—parasites that did not care for the ones they had left behind. 

            _This planet’s a corpse._

            Disrupted chain-link fences stood at the sides of the dusty road they traversed.  They were the only traffic that Wolf could see for miles.  He supposed it made sense; not many people left Corona and even less left for the flatlands.  They passed a partially caved-in building and Wolf tried hard to remember what its purpose had been all those years ago.  He could not remember and he gave a sigh as he settled into his seat, careful not to bump his injured leg.

            “Is there anything out here?” Leon asked.

            “What ya see is what ya get,” Wolf remarked, voice as dry as the air around them.

            “Where am I turnin’ off?” Pigma asked.

           Wolf’s single eye scanned the horizon, glazing over the abandoned constructs left decaying under Lylat’s rays.  When he spied his quarry, he pointed a clawed finger towards it. “There.”

           “You sure?”

           “Yeah.”

           Their destination was a factory; made out of dark-toned metal with extinguished lights that had gone out years ago. Its sign had been torn down decades ago, leaving just the posts standing in adamant defiance.  Whatever gates there had been to ward the curious away had been removed.  There was nothing to stop their approach.

_Some things never change._

           “How is your leg?” Leon asked.

           “Feels like shit,” Wolf grunted.  “We’ll need to take another look at it when we’re settled.”

           “Maybe this time, you will only threaten me _five_ times while I look it over,” Leon jested in his ever-stoic fashion.

           Wolf had dug trenches into the padded seats during the extraction, causing fluff to spew onto the floorboards.  Through the agonized growling from Wolf and callous reassurance from Leon (almost drowned out by the choppy, static-filled radio and Pigma’s off-key singing), Andrew had remained quiet, staring out the window expressionlessly. He only perked up as they drove between two rusted fence posts—monuments to a time long passed for the neglected factory.

           “You’re lucky it wasn’t more,” Wolf huffed.

           “What a shame it would be if the entire Lylat System knew…” Leon said, eyes glittering with dangerous amusement. “… How much of a _wimp_ the leader of the dreaded Star Wolf is…”

           “That settles it.  Next ship, I’m gettin’ a lizard-skin seat,” Wolf retorted back, his mouth twisting into a wry smirk.

           After they had parked around the back of the factory, Pigma was the first one out of the stolen speeder, plodding down hard onto the parched dirt.  He craned his head back at the factory that Wolf had pointed out to him, using his hand as a visor against Lylat’s rays.  The others piled out of the speeder one at a time.  Wolf tested his injured leg gingerly on the dirt before committing to putting down weight on it. 

_Ugh, what I would give for some painkillers…_

           “Heh, it don’t look too different from the others.  Why this place, eh?” commented the hog with curiosity.

           “The locals hate it, that’s why.  There was a bad accident here—a fire, killed about thirty workers.  No one touches it ‘cause the ghosts of the victims are s’posed to be hauntin’ the joint,” Wolf replied casually but he took note of Andrew’s grimace.

           “Does it got any grub, I wonder?” Pigma scratched his chin. “We ain’t gettin’ far without food.”

           “I know,” Wolf replied miserably.

           “This place is different from my home, but there are opportunities everywhere,” Leon said, voice as cold as winter’s bite despite the glint of determination in his eyes. “I will search for resources.” He walked towards the front doors, Pigma close behind him.

           “And the ghosts?” Andrew asked apprehensively with a quirked brow.

           “Not real as far as I know,” Wolf shrugged and trailed after the hog and lizard.  Andrew did not look convinced but he followed the others regardless.

           The factory was deserted, its walls decaying incredibly slowly.  Windows had been shot out, leaving shards of glass spread across the yellowing tile floors.  Deathly silence was all that reigned in the manufacturing plant, its hallways clearly having not seen visitors in years.  Chipped paint flecked the broken tiles, which were dirt-stained and grimy with things that Wolf did not want to think about.  Roaches scattered in the corners, the last living inhabitants of the old factory.

           The Star Wolf team found a large room filled with inactive conveyer belts and Wolf decided it was as good of a place to stop as any.  The belts were not entirely unoccupied —blackened dirt and grime had mixed together to form a gross layer of something that looked suspiciously like mold, but the dry air told Wolf it was just the accumulation of neglect.  A few of them were broken, caved in from the weight of rubble.  The ceiling was largely intact save for a chunk that permitted Lylat to filter its light onto the desolate room. 

           “We’ll wait in here.  Plenty of cover and multiple exits,” Wolf said to the others.

           “Wait for what?” Andrew asked. “For them to find us here?”

           “If that’s what happens, yeah,” Wolf shrugged and took note of Leon scurrying quietly into one of the abandoned corridors.  “But I doubt they’ll show their mugs here.”

           “Why do you say that?” Andrew asked.

           “ ‘Cause this place’s haunted, remember?  They’ll check Lenny’s first but they won’t find anything there.  Once they’ve left, he’ll know something went down.  He’ll know to come here,” Wolf answered, scratching behind one of his tattered ears.

           “And how will he know that?” Andrew’s brows furrowed.

_Oh, kid, you don’t wanna know the answer to that._  

           The ex-space pirate breathed in deep. The air was nostalgic, filled with a stale musk that reminded him of mothball-adorned coats, cobwebs, regrets, and the merciless passage of time.  It had been that way years ago, before he had left.  He knew in the decades to come, nothing would change here.  It was the only thing excused from the laws of the universe; it stood as an obelisk for the failures of their pathetic society. 

            “He’s the one that took me here for the first time,” Wolf answered when he realized the simian was still waiting for his reply.  “But that was a long time ago.  Maybe even before you were born.”

            “You’re not that much older than me,” Andrew retorted.

            “My back says otherwise,” Wolf shot back and Andrew rolled his eyes.  Single violet eye tracing over the young ape, the ex-pirate felt the questions start to creep from the deeper recesses of his mind.  They piled against his tongue until he was compelled to release them. “So what was that back there?”

            Andrew did not look at him.  He seemed focused on the empty air, searching and gazing through something that was not there.  Twice he blinked before he answered in a low, uncharacteristically somber tone, “Just something my uncle taught me.”

            “Oho?” Pigma’s brows raised with interest.  He had found a spot on the wall to lean against, his flight suit brushing against some of the unsavory stains. “Some of yer uncle’s mumbo-jumbo crap?”

            “It’s not ‘mumbo-jumbo’!” Andrew shot back. “And it’s definitely not crap.”

            “I’d agree with that,” Wolf said, folding his arms over his chest. “It certainly came in handy.  Can you do it again?”

            Andrew gave pause before the confession came out, “I don’t know.”

            _Bingo.  I had a hunch it was a fluke but I guess that’s for the best.  The kid’s going through a lot, emotions runnin’ high and all that… Don’t want a guy with that sort of trick blowin’ up on us._

            “How did you do it before?” Wolf pressed.

            “I don’t know how to describe it,” Andrew just shook his head. “It’s… complicated.”

            _Deflectin’ hard there, kiddo.  But that’s not gonna save you from this interrogation._

           Wolf could sense the young heir’s unease, but that did not cause him to hesitate.  After what Andrew had done, Wolf had little sympathy for him; they were now three steps behind where they should have been in their mission, hiding out in an abandoned, reeking old factory with no food or water and barely any weapons between them.  Knowing that and feeling the tweak of pain in his leg, Wolf strained to curtail his gradually reviving anger. 

           “So what’d you do with the guns Pigma gave you?” the ex-pirate asked, quirking a brow.

           “What?” Andrew asked, nose wrinkled.

           “The guns.  Where are they?” Wolf asked him with a low growl.

           “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Andrew answered.

           “You drunk still?” Wolf asked.

           “No!” Andrew snapped back. “I’m… I’m fine.”

           “Then where’d you put the guns?” Wolf asked and Andrew just dumbly shook his head in reply.

_God dammit, he can’t remember, can he?_

           "Look, kid, we didn’t exactly come here with an entire arsenal fit fer what we gotta do.  I’m gonna need to know what ya did with those guns or we’re gonna have a serious problem,” Wolf felt his hackles rising.

           “Easy, easy,” Pigma waved his hands, but there was a cunning smile playing about his snout. “We don’t need none o’ that out here o’ all places!”

           “Quiet, Pigma!” Wolf snapped and the hog held up his hands with some measure of defeat.  “Andrew, answer –”

           “Or what?  You’re gonna beat me up?  You’re gonna kill me?” Andrew turned to face Wolf, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Well, I don’t care!  I don’t care about this stupid mission! I don’t care about your friend or his dumb jewelry!  I just want to get back to Venom.”

           “Still goin’ on about that?  I thought we agreed to settle that once we were off this rock,” Wolf growled.

           “If we even get off this rock!” Andrew snapped. “Because apparently the local mob wants to kill you!”

           “And who let them know I was here?” Wolf snarled. “Because I wasn’t the one that walked into their favorite goddamn bar and decided to get feisty with the locals!”

           “How was I supposed to know you had a bounty on your head here?” Andrew shot back.

           “Andrew, where in the Lylat System do I NOT have a bounty on my head?” Wolf spat. “And if they figure out who you are, you’re not gonna be much better off.  You’re the nephew to the fallen Venomian Emperor.  They’ll skin you and ship your carcass to General Pepper for a chance to leave this shithole.”

           Andrew’s eyes were steady, but there was an angry quiver in his lower lip.  He held his ground and Wolf was silently impressed by how firm he was standing.  A single strand of sunlight fell through the roof, illuminating the hungover and pissed off Andrew’s golden-brown irises.  For a moment, Wolf could see a vague resemblance to the deceased Andross.  But Andrew was still soft, still green.  And Wolf questioned for the thousandth time if that would ever change.

           “And why would they care about that?” Andrew asked. “It’s not like we invaded Eladard or caused the planet to get so messed up.”

           “It’s not about that.  It’s about getting _out_ ,” Wolf responded coldly.

           “So,” Andrew began with a knowing gleam. “What did you do to Archie to get out of here?”  _Pause._   “Or maybe I should ask what he did to you?”

           Wolf had blinked in the time it had taken for his hand to find Andrew’s scrawny neck, his claws digging small rivets into the would-be heir’s neck.  His lips peeled back in a snarl, fur standing on end with scarcely bridled wrath.  Andrew’s gasps were stifled by his grip, his long fingers wrapped around Wolf’s wrist.

           “You might’ve saved my neck a few times lately,” the ex-space pirate captain sneered. “But that ain’t gonna save you from an ass whoopin’ if you don’t get it together.  I ain’t here to talk about Archie.  I’m here to talk about our weapons.  So forget about him and start trying to remember what happened to my stuff.”

           “Y’know, I’ve heard what the others said about me. That I was never any good.  That I was just put on your team because my uncle was the Emperor.  And maybe I’m still new to all this.  But I know… I know that you’re not gonna treat me like that anymore, Wolf,” Andrew began.

           Wolf’s hand tightened further.  It seemed as though Andrew’s eyes were nearly bugged from their sockets, his weaker hands grabbing at Wolf’s hand.  Scoffing at the primate’s feeble attempts to flee, Wolf said, “That’s tough talk.  Why don’t you try to back some of that bark?”

           He released his grasp around the heir’s neck, letting Andrew fall to his feet.  The ape stumbled for a moment, balling his hands into wrathful fists at his sides.  Rage spiked through Wolf’s veins like lightning strikes, conjuring flames that made him see red. 

_I shouldn’t do this.  But fuck, I’m so pissed._

           “Now, now boys…” Pigma began but there was clearly some glee in his pale irises.

           “I don’t need to prove _anything_ to you,” Andrew replied scathingly.

_I wasn’t sure how I felt about what you did to that guy back there, but you made a mistake, Andrew._

           Wolf’s response was a lunge with his clawed hands curled into fists.  Andrew leapt back.  Hands over his face, he staggered back a few clumsy steps but they were enough to evade the first hit.  However, he was not so fortunate with the second hit.  Wolf’s fist found Andrew’s forearm with such a force that he _knew_ the simian would be sporting a bruise there soon.

_You told me you weren’t sure if you can do it again.  At this rate, you’ll never learn.  Never tell anyone everything.  Especially your weakness._

           Planting one foot on the tile, Wolf spun with a kick to Andrew’s gut.  The blow was not as deep as he would have liked but Andrew did fumble back.  He was losing ground fast as his tail brushed the wall.  The canine felt the recoil of pain in his leg from the removed splinter but his expression did not shift.  Wolf followed up with a second charge, but Andrew lithely evaded.  One of Wolf’s boots touched the wall and he used his continuing momentum to kick off from it, sending a follow-up punch down at Andrew.  The heir took the blow to the chin, falling back.  He kicked out with one of his feet, curling his torso to roll away.  The tip of Andrew’s boot caught Wolf in the jaw and the canine faltered back a step, grunting as he stepped awkwardly on his injured leg.

_Ugh, need to be more careful._

           But rage was an incubus and Wolf was fully in the demon’s embrace, drinking deep from pools of bitterness that had long festered in his mind.  With a bestial snarl, he ran at the recovering Andrew, blind to everything that was happening around him except for the blur of green that intercepted him. 

           “Wolf!” Leon yelled, and Wolf felt the lizard’s firm grip upon his arms, blocking him from Andrew.  He struggled against Leon for a moment, his adrenaline and rage sapped as the pain in his leg grew.

            “Wolf, what are you doing?”

            Wordlessly, the canine let his arms fall to his sides and Leon released him, looking between him and Andrew with utmost apprehension. Andrew had a smudge of blood near his swelling lip, but seemed otherwise unharmed.  Wolf’s injured leg buckled for a moment, his left hand grabbing a hold of Leon’s shoulder.  The Kewian assassin stood firm for him, letting one of his thin arms snake around Wolf’s shoulder to support him until he could rise back up to his full height.

            “Leon, the guns,” Wolf tried to explain.

            “And how will you find them if you pummel him to death?” Leon asked him, his tone returned to its typical level of calm.  He glanced to Pigma, who was giddily stifling a laugh, lip curling into a frown before settling his gaze on Andrew.  “Andrew, where are the weapons Pigma gave you?”

            “I… I don’t know where the guns are,” Andrew admitted, tapping a finger near his swollen lip to feel the injury. “E-everything up to the bar… is kind of fuzzy.  It… might take me a bit to remember.”

           “Well, best start thinkin’ real, real hard on what you did,” Wolf scowled at him. “Maybe tap into that mumbo jumbo or whatever and see if that can’t help.”

           “It’s not ‘mumbo jumbo’,” Andrew repeated, exasperated.  “It’s… It’s something that I can’t…”

           “It’s magic,” Pigma said simply, rubbing his nose.

           “Magic,” Wolf said skeptically.

           “You ever heard of a place called Cerinia?” Pigma asked. 

           “Can’t say I have.  And can’t say I ever believed Andross was actually able to use magic.  Sure, he could do things I couldn’t explain.  But I figured it was just… y’know…” Wolf waved his hand. “Science.”

           “Bwahaha, you didn’t go to school, did you?” Pigma asked.

           “Hard to make every class when you’re being bumped around everywhere by the government,” Wolf said sourly.  His single violet iris fell on Andrew for a moment before he tore his gaze away.  Leon seemed to visibly tense but Wolf diffused it by stiffly walking back towards the corridor they had come from. “Think on what happened.  I’m gonna check the front of the factory, see if I can’t find anything.”

            No one replied and he departed into the corridor. Tendrils of pain shot down his leg, but he masked his discomfort, even if there was no audience.  As he walked, he cracked his knuckles, fingertips skimming over where he had struck Andrew.  The release of tension set his nerves alight, fueling the darker parts of him that craved a bloody catharsis.  Since he had been locked away in Chasma Penitentiary on his homeworld, he had felt his need for survival lock hands with his desire for violence, a union he knew was born from the piles of bad luck he had been given.

_‘Don’t you ever get tired of nothing going your way?’_

            He shoved the thought aside, telling himself sentiments were for morons and kept walking.

Stained walls and chipped flooring greeted him, the grime in their grout telling him how long it had been since they had been properly cleansed.  One of his claws lightly rapped the walls, listening to the shrill noise their collision made.  His leg ached the more he walked and he found himself a seat atop a sturdy crate near one of the cracked windows.  A thin veil of green had covered part of the glass, distorting the color palette of the Eladardian landscape.  Outside, he could see nothing but the stretching wasteland that the Cornerians had created.

            _Am I really over what happened to the crew?_

The thought struck him like lightning, tearing at the foundations of who he thought he had become.  His lips liberated a burdened sigh as he allowed his mind to think of things he had not dare to think of in a long time.  His dream from the night before still weighed on him—phantoms played about in the shadows of his conscious, daring him to look their way.  In those quiet moments, he confessed to himself that their deaths still rested heavy on his heart, no matter what callousness he preached.  It was just business, he told himself strictly, and he would not fault Pigma for following orders.

           In a sense, their current predicament reminded him of his pirate crew’s failed attempt to escape the Cornerians.  Wolf had led them on that raid to Katina, had led them into the jaws of death.  And only when hope had been lost, he had told them to run.  They had thought to outrun the Cornerians, but the Star Fox team had been there lying in wait.  Wolf still remembered the sound of his first-mate’s yell over the communications channel as his ship had been annihilated in the void of space.

_I was late to call for the retreat and a damn fool to even think we could outrun them._

           One stroke of bad luck after the other—Andrew was right; Wolf _was_ tired of nothing going his way.

_I won’t make those mistakes again._

           Tension left his shoulders when he was done mulling over his forbidden, sentimental thoughts.  His exhale was that of relief, letting his body lax in posture.  Wolf hated the internal councils he kept but they anchored him to sanity.  He let his nostalgia and sentiment dissipate into the air and he stretched.  A few joints crackled with discontent.

_Alright, now we’re over that.  At least for the moment.  Let’s focus on the now._

           Wolf glanced over his shoulder and saw Leon standing in the doorway, the assassin’s arms folded across his chest.  The ex-space pirate gave a start, having not heard his wingmate’s entrance.  His posture straightened immediately.

           “Didn’t hear ya,” Wolf confessed. “What’s goin’ on?”

           “You are hurting,” Leon said and Wolf felt taken aback—even a bit disturbed—that the lizard had read him so easily.  Leon’s mouth curved with a frown. “Your leg.  Let us look at it.”

_Oh.  Right.  The leg._

           “Sure, if you wanna play doctor,” Wolf said, realizing only after how his words sounded.  Under his slate-gray fur, his skin warmed with embarrassment.  The awkwardness of his statement seemed to go completely over the assassin’s head and Wolf breathed a silent sigh of relief.  Regardless, Wolf rolled up his pant leg to show Leon the crudely-done bandage job.

           Leon approached on silent feet, taking a knee to get a closer look at the wound.  His touch was tender, fluid as water coursing a river’s path.  He still wore gloves yet beyond them, Wolf could feel how careful the lizard was being as he unwrapped the bandage.  The assassin’s wandering eyes were locked fully on the bloodied cloths until they were all peeled away.  Leon’s expression was unchanging, but his gaze soon flitted to Wolf’s single eye.

           “It is healing nicely,” came the verdict and Wolf exhaled out more tension.  Leon’s fingers danced around the wounds, causing tendrils of pain to trickle up the canine’s leg.  When Wolf winced, Leon’s expression grew apologetic.

           “It’s fine, just not so nice feelin’ when you poke it,” Wolf reassured him.

           “I can imagine,” Leon replied.  From his coat, he produced two things-- more bandages and a small circular container with a strange transparent gel.  He popped open the container and looked to the wound. “This will be cold.”

           “What is that?” Wolf’s ears flitted back.

           “My people called it ‘blood sealer’.  It is from a plant, harvested only in a particular part of the year.  The plant only blooms in running water and must be stored in darkness.  There were harvesters who would tend to the plant and create the gel itself.  It is said to seal wounds with incredible speed and numb the pain,” Leon answered mechanically.  The gel was cold to the touch and Wolf hissed softly as Leon applied it, continuing, “Even Andross was impressed by it when I showed it to him.”

           “That certainly says somethin’.  Does it have any weird side effects?” Wolf asked.

           “My father used to say that it would make him a bit more… _favorable_ … to certain activities,” Leon began, his voice cracking and his sentence coming to an abrupt halt.

           “What kind of activities?” Wolf narrowed his eye.

           “S-sleeping,” Leon said quickly.

           “ _Sleepin’_?  I don’t got time for that,” Wolf retorted, starting to pull his leg away but Leon’s grip held it steady.

           “If you do not let me do this, I fear your leg will become infected,” Leon insisted, though he did seem somewhat shaken. “And then… we will have to take more drastic measures.”

           “Drastic measures…?” Wolf flitted an ear to the side.

           “Worry not.  I am certain it won’t come to that,” Leon shrugged.

           As the Kewian worked on re-bandaging Wolf’s leg, the canine stared out the grimy window.  The wind had picked up since they had arrived in the old factory, its touch harsh on the creaking walls.  Dirt stirred outside and when the wind reached its peak in speed, the distant, mechanical skyline of Corona was obscured.  Its crumbling buildings were no longer an eyesore in those sweet blissful moments and Wolf reflected on what Eladard had been when he had arrived all those years ago as an orphan.  Once, there had been trees and life—but that had been before Wolf and his siblings had set foot on the planet’s cursed surface. That had been before his lifetime, before the Civil War, even.

           “Archie…” Leon began cautiously, gaze dragging slowly up to his leader. “…is the one who took your eye?”

           The question blindsided the already sentimental Wolf and his head snapped in Leon’s direction.  Recoiling with fear, the lizard shook his head.

           “I should not have spoken…”

           “No one took my eye,” Wolf answered blandly.

           “I see,” Leon answered. “Forgive me.”

           “It’s fine,” Wolf could not force an ounce of emotion into his voice if his life depended on it and so he let his words fall out like bricks, clattering to the floor lifeless.

           Movement from the corner of his peripherals caught the canine’s attention and he glanced over at a trail of dust rising from the distance.  His posture shifted and his ears perked with intrigue.  Leon took note of the change and swiveled his head in the direction Wolf was looking at.

           “Our friends from the bar?” Leon asked.

           “Maybe,” Wolf replied.

           When the speeder came into sight, Wolf breathed a small sigh of relief.  The beat-up yellow vehicle was Lenny’s without doubt and as soon as the speeder made it to the factory’s front, Wolf was on his feet.  Instinct told him to check for his blaster and so he tapped it twice with two fingers to make sure it was there—just for precaution’s sake.  Lenny was an old friend, but Wolf could smell something foul in the air, and it was not just the musk of the abandoned factory.

           “You should be careful on that leg,” Leon advised.

           “We got missions to do, I don’t have time to be careful,” Wolf said haughtily and Leon only shook his head at him.

           When they came back to the room with all of the conveyer belts, Pigma visibly perked at their approach.  Andrew had fallen asleep next to a tin bucket that seemed to be attracting more than a handful of flies.  The hog grinned from ear-to-floppy-ear.

           “Ehhh guess the booze caught up with him,” Pigma shrugged. “Wassup?”

           “Lenny’s here.  I want you and Leon on surveillance when I go out to meet him,” Wolf said, sweeping his eye between the two. 

           “Hmm?  What’s that?  Don’t trust your pal?” Pigma raised his brows.

           “It’s not that,” Wolf replied. “Don’t got time to explain.”  From his overcoat, he pulled his portable ear piece, tapping it twice to activate it. “Keep in touch.”

           Without waiting to see their reactions, Wolf began down the hallways, towards the entrance.  A few dislodged pipes ran faint trickles of water onto the ground and his boots   splashed through them as he walked towards the factory’s front.  Lylat filtering through the dirty windows gave the corridors an unhealthy olive atmosphere.  He gnashed his teeth, feeling nothing but the staleness of abandonment in the air. 

           By the time he had reached the doors leading outside, his fur had begun to stand on end with nerves.  He ran a hand through it, trying to smooth it down.  Wolf made sure to check the window before exiting—the moment he saw Lenny hop down with two hefty black bags, he stepped from the factory and into the light.  Visoring his one eye with a hand, he called to his former boss.

           “I was hopin’ that was you!”

           The old croc shot him an exasperated look, plopping both bags down with little regard to their contents. “Yer a fuckin’ moron.  Could hear the damn scrap from the shop.  Are any of ya injured?”

           “How touching for you to care,” Wolf said, placing a hand dramatically on his chest.  Lenny rolled his eyes.

           “I care to see that necklace returned.  And maybe I got a soft spot for you,” Lenny harrumphed. “But that changes nothin’.  Nothin’ but the cost of yer ships bein’ repaired.”

           Wolf’s jaw fell open, ears flitting back. “B-by how much?”

           “Since I had to deliver yer stuff… Oh, I’d say ya get to give this old croc some of the loot ya were already plannin’ on swipin’ from Archie on yer way in an’ out o’ his mansion,” Lenny tapped his lengthy chin with thought.

           “W-we weren’t gonna swipe—” Wolf began.

           “Oh?  Ain’t that what pirates do?  They steal the loot?” Lenny quirked a scaled brow.

           “I told you, I ain’t about that life now,” Wolf protested. “And I know you’re not the type o’ guy to really care much about trinkets.”

           “Ya got me there.  But I care about _retirement._   And I ain’t ‘bout to find a beach house here on Eladard,” Lenny gestured to the wastelands around them.  “So, I scratch yer back, ya scratch mine.  Ya know how it goes, Wolf.”

_You old codger.  I thought you’d die before you even thought about retirement._

           “Lenny…” Wolf began, but could not find it in him to argue.  “Ugh.  Fine.  We’ll snag you some shit ta sell.  Where’re you thinkin’ of going?”

           “Zoness,” Lenny grinned. “Perfect place fer a croc like me.  I been workin’ on my beach bod.” He stroked his saggy, plump stomach and Wolf scowled at him.

           “Alright, fine, we’ll get you some extra shit so you can get outta here,” Wolf sighed.  His forefinger and his thumb massaged the top of his snout.  Always one thing after the other.

           “Good shit,” Lenny’s toothy grin somehow widened and though Wolf knew that he had just agreed to more grief, he somehow shared the croc’s smile.  “Anyways, I got the rest of your gear in these bags.  Oh an’ some grub, since y’all stood me up on breakfast.”

           “Stood you up!?” Wolf asked, truly flabbergasted.

           “Oh, ya know, I was gonna fix yer favorite Coronan-Crushed flapjacks.  I remember how much ya liked them, so I thought I’d…” Lenny began, scratching behind his massive head.

           It took every fiber in Wolf’s body to stifle the grimace that threatened to invade his otherwise amiable expression.  He pressed the corners of his mouth in an upward turn, bushy white brows arched high over his mismatched eyes.  At the mention of the flapjacks, he felt the heat of vomit in the back of his throat, a burning memory from too many years as a scrapper.

           “O-oh… how unfortunate,” Wolf replied. “Well, guess there’s always next time.”

           The flapjacks had been, as Wolf remembered, disgusting to the taste and with a texture that would have made even a starving creature shudder.

           “Heh, no need to wait, I packed ‘em in the bags.  Ya can share with yer friends,” the crocodile replied, gesturing to the factory.  “I know yer all holed up in here.  Just ‘member what I told you about this place, eh?”  His dark eyes glittered pointedly and Wolf gave a slight nod of confirmation.  Lenny’s grin returned instantaneously. “Good shit.  Now, take your stuff and head in.  I gots a few orders to take care of.”

           Wolf took the sacks begrudgingly, praying to whatever deity could hear him that Lenny had packed something to at least go along with his atrocious flapjacks.  “Thanks, Boss,” Wolf said, letting the last word slip out unintentionally.  He saw the reptile stiffen for a moment, but then the old scrapper waved the comment aside.

           “Yeah, yeah, jus’ don’ get yerself killed,” Lenny retorted and hopped back into his speeder.

           Wolf returned into the safety of the factory a few moments later, greeted immediately by a salivating Pigma and an intrigued Leon.  The Kewian snatched one of the bags from Wolf’s grasp in an eager attempt to help, though he almost immediately peered down into the sack.

           “What is this stench?” Leon asked.

           “Food,” Wolf replied and the assassin made a face.

           “I don’t give a damn what it smells like, just lemme at it,” Pigma snorted gleefully.  He teetered back and forth with childish giddiness, his milky eyes fixated upon the bag of food Leon was holding.  The lizard closed the bag abruptly and shot the hog a murderous look.

           “Easy, easy, let’s take it to the back.  More cover that way,” Wolf suggested.  _It’s like herding children._

           Andrew had not budged from where they had left him.  By the time that the three returned with food in hand, however, the simian youth was awakening albeit grumpily.  Pale irises shooting daggers through Wolf, Andrew was still partially leaned over his designated bucket.  One of his hands rested on his sunken-in stomach, the other rested on his cheek.  He did not say anything in greeting, though Wolf wondered if that was partially due to his high levels of nausea.

           “Heya, kid, ya want some grub?” Wolf teased and Andrew’s glare narrowed into needles of seething hatred.

           “Fuck you,” Andrew said simply and Wolf guffawed as he plopped down across the room. 

           “Leon, let’s take a look at what we got,” Wolf said and the assassin opened the bag. 

           The lithe lizard pulled forth a few containers with beans—likely frozen so that they would keep for longer.  Next came a loaf of bread, which Pigma dug into immediately, ripping the plastic seal and shoving two pieces down his gob.  Some unknown jerky was next, smoked with a scent that made Wolf drool.  A few muffins had been given to them, along with bagged chips and a container of lettuce (which Leon made a face at).  The bottom of the bag was filled with five containers of flapjacks and a travel-friendly tube of syrup.

           “The flat golden bread smells odd,” Leon remarked.

           “Yeah, I know,” Wolf sighed and grabbed some jerky and a muffin.

           “Get that away,” Andrew whined. “The smell makes me wanna… urghh…” He leaned over but from the sound of his sputtering, nothing came out.

           “Heh, regret it yet?” Pigma asked jovially as he shoved more bread into his mouth.

           Andrew gave no reply to the smug pig, but he did visibly perk up.  Cocking his head to the side, he sat shrouded in disquiet, lips pursed.  Wolf’s brow furrowed, gnawing on the stick of jerky he had taken.  Sole violet eye crawling over the Venom heir, Wolf felt the tension in the air rise with Andrew’s levels of concentration.  The monkey said nothing for what seemed like an eternity until he finally broke his silence with one, simple question.

           “Do you hear that?”

           Wolf strived to listen, perking his ears.  He could hear something faint in the distance, the noise muffled by the stern, steel factory walls.  He leaned in closer, nose giving a twitch.  Nothing could have braced him enough for the sound of a single bullet rocketing into the Eladardian sky, streaking through the heavens like a bat out of Hell.  Pigma nearly leapt from his skin, clinging onto the loaf with both hands.  Leon whirled towards the doors, drawing a straight-edged knife from his belt.

           “It came from outside,” the Kewian assassin advised them.

          “Damn it…” Wolf seethed, teeth gnashed as he made for the hallway.  Heart throbbing in his ears, he kept as low as he could while he made his approach to the first grimy window.  Claws toying with the gun at his hip, he chanced a look out across the wastelands and felt his stomach churn.

         At least twenty of Archie’s henchmen stood several yards away from the building’s entrance, their leader a bull touting a rather sizeable piercing in his septum.  His right foot was planted Lenny’s face, shoving it further into the dirt.  The old croc did not squirm. Instead, his eyes stared forward.  Steel and silence, his lengthy jaw set in defiance.

          “What is it?” Pigma asked from the doorway.  His chin was enveloped in his own saliva and bread crumbles had taken to forming a light beard about his maw.

          “They found us,” Wolf announced grimly.  The voice of the wind against the glass was an unpleasant creak that raised the fur on his nape, but in it, he could almost hear the laugh of his crew beyond the grave. 


	6. Outgunned

        There was a joke somewhere in their situation but Wolf could not find it.  Absent-mindedly, he patted the pocket on his dusty coat for a cigarette.  It was empty.  He uttered a string of curses under his breath.  If he had been superstitious at all, he would have guessed he was cursed with bad luck.  But Wolf did not believe in anything—anything but doing whatever it took to survive. 

 _It wasn’t gonna be this easy.  I should’ve known that._                                                                       

        “Well shit,” Pigma rubbed his chin. “What now?”

        “Listen carefully—” Wolf began.

        “No time!” Leon yelled. 

        Heat and light filled the peripherals of Wolf’s vision.  He felt something land on him, the impact pushing him away from the window as it exploded with a noise that sounded like the world shattering around him. When his head hit the tile, the world became a haze.  Leon’s face was haloed in a blur, staring down at him in surprise.  Wolf’s ears rang for a few agonizing seconds.  His nostrils burned with the scent of smoke. 

        “Move!” Leon barked at the other two, the distinctive whirr of another incoming missile in the distance.  The Kewian assassin’s grip found Wolf’s collar and the infamous leader of Star Wolf soon found himself stumble-running after the lithe lizard.

        “How did they find us!?” Andrew shouted over his shoulder, moving with surprising speed given how he had been horribly hungover just hours before.        

        “They must’ve followed Lenny!” Wolf shouted right as the second missile hit behind them.  Small fires had begun to eat away at the decrepit building, slithering about the hallway slowly.  They merged together in tiny clusters, illuminating the dank and grim corridor with crimson light.

        “Did he not see if anyone was following him!?” Leon asked.                                                            

        “He’s a scrapper, not a spy!” Wolf shot back.

        “Well, he’s going to get us killed!” Andrew retorted.

        “Take a right up here!” Wolf instructed from the rear of the group.  His strides were not as long as Andrew’s or Leon’s, but he was about to out-pace Pigma.  Another hit to the factory rumbled the floor for a third time but it was so far that Wolf felt himself breathe a small sigh of relief. 

_They must think we ran the other way.  Good.  That’ll give us time to find it…_

        Andrew took the right as he was told, Leon following him. They stopped at the corner, pressing themselves to the wall.  When Wolf made it, he pulled Pigma around the corner with him.  Another blast sounded out in the factory, this one even further away.  Wolf might have felt relieved if he had not heard the unmistakable _bang_ of a door leaving its hinges.

        “We’ve got basically nothing,” Andrew pointed out frantically. “All our stuff is in that one big room…”

        “Leave it,” Wolf said.

        “Leave it?!” Andrew gawked. “And… and do what?  I didn’t even bring a _blaster_!”

        “Well, that’s on you now ain’t it?” Wolf retorted. “There’s a tunnel under the factory.  Two hallways down and in the boiler room.  Right, left, then 3rd room on your right.  We’re gonna make a run for it.”

        His ear flitted.  There were footsteps in the distance.  Heavy, clunking against the tile.  A faint breeze brought their scents to his nose—they were their pursuers, undoubtedly.  He nodded to his team and began down the hall, beckoning wordlessly for them to follow.  His hand grabbed the handle of the blaster at his hip.  It was an older model, Macbethian-made with a prong at its barrel for melee combat.  He checked its central crystal before cocking it into the “kill” position. 

        “What about your friend?” Andrew asked, running side-by-side with Wolf. 

        “It’s four versus twenty, and the twenty have a bazooka,” Wolf replied. “We’ll rescue him.  But we can’t do it like this.”

        “How do we know they won’t kill him now?” Andrew asked.

        “We don’t,” Wolf answered grimly. 

        Another explosion sent them stumbling.  It was far closer now—the floor above them.  The ceiling creaked threateningly.  Wolf’s ears pressed back and he sprinted.  He glanced over his shoulder as he heard the ceiling begin to give way behind him.  Pigma barely made it, looking quite alarmed as dust showered his backside.

        Andrew gave a cry from the front and Wolf felt a jolt of adrenaline shoot through his tired body.  He surged forward, rounding the corner with his blaster in hand.  Andrew was wrestling with one of the thugs, trying to pull the man’s gun from him.  Defenseless, the simian clung onto his attacker’s rifle.  The thug, a head shorter than him but twice Andrew’s body mass, was clearly gaining on the young heir and so Wolf saw it necessary to fire a single blast at the henchman’s thigh.  As the blaster pierced and burned through his skin, the thug howled in pain and Andrew claimed the rifle. 

        The second shot Wolf fired ended the thug’s pain.  His single eye found Leon, who had sunk twin daggers into another thug, pulling them out to engage a third henchman.  Four more cronies were incoming, heralding their arrival with hefty shots fired from their blasters. 

        “I got this shit!” Pigma roared from behind.  He pulled a blaster out, its barrel clicking once to extend its length.  He fired a large, rounded beam of neon green at their attackers.  One was taken out immediately, the others pressed to the walls to avoid the shot.  Wolf did not have time to see what else happened; he watched Leon take a fist to the gut and launched himself into the fray. 

        His opponent was a weasel with a crooked snout that had clearly never been repaired from the last time someone had punched it in.  His nails were filed to claws.  One hand grasped a straight-bladed knife and the other a small pistol.  Wolf’s hand found the weasel’s collar and he slammed him against the wall.  The weasel’s knife came down and Wolf leapt back a step to let it slice through thin air.  With a kick off the wall, the thug came flying at Wolf.  Blade swiping horizontal, it caught the inside of Wolf’s jacket, poking a hole through the material.  Wolf grabbed the weasel’s scruff and tossed him back towards the wall, cocking his position to fire at the weasel.  Desperation saw the weasel’s blade fly at Wolf’s face and the ex-space pirate quickly side-stepped.  The blade sliced Wolf’s left cheek, digging into his skin and cutting away his eyepatch.

        As the leather fell onto the ground, he felt the coldness of the air around his maimed left eye.  It was used to the darkness, the warmth of the patch.  There was an urge to cover it—his glaring weakness, but he did not.  He fired at the weasel with a nasty snarl on his face, missing the first shot by an inch.  His opponent popped a shot at Wolf.  He side-stepped again, clumsier this time, pulling a shoulder back to make himself a narrower target.  The weasel lunged with a second shot and Wolf felt the heat skim over his arm as he evaded. 

_Ughhh… it’s blurry.  I’m used to that eye being dark.  My balance is off.  My aim’s off.  Fuck._

        “What’s the matter, doggie?” the weasel taunted. “Can’t you _see_ where you’re shooting?”

 _Ha, ha so funny.  So very funny…_ He felt a growl rumble in his throat. 

        “Move!” Leon yelled and Wolf ducked to the side as the lizard came in with a stab to the weasel’s chest.  The sound of the blade meeting the thug’s chest was loud and Wolf’s own chest prickled with unease at the thought.  Leon looked to Wolf for a moment, his eyes widening as he noticed that Wolf’s patch had fallen off.

        “Ah… I can try to find—” Leon began, searching the ground.

        “Don’t bother.  It’s ruined,” Wolf replied, dismally covering his marred eye with his left hand.

        He turned and saw Pigma blast down the last thug.  The hog turned to the others, giving them a cheeky grin and beckoned for them to follow him.  Andrew rested the back of the barrel of his newfound rifle on his shoulder and followed.  Leon, his front splattered in crimson, took up the rear as Wolf found his place next to Andrew and behind Pigma. 

        “Be careful, there’s gonna more in the next hall,” Andrew warned them.

        “You can see the future now?” Wolf asked warily.

        “I can _hear_ them, dumbass,” Andrew shot back and Wolf smirked in reply. 

_‘Atta boy, Andrew._

        Around the next corner were three more goons.  They were sporting armor—rip-offs of the Cornerian Defense Force gear.  Visors concealed their eyes.  One of them yelped in surprise and at once their blasters were trained on the incoming Star Wolf team.  As lasers danced down the rusty corridor, Pigma pulled back to the previous hall, holding a hand out to deter the other three from marching to their demise.

        “How’d they get that tech!?” Andrew asked.

        “Probably bought it,” Wolf replied.  He could hear their footsteps, their ragged breath.  His left hand remained over his blind eye, letting his other senses tell him where the enemy was.  He readied his blaster.

        “This is Rockson, we got a visual on ‘em on Hall C.  Back up requested!” one of them was saying.

        “Leave it to me,” Pigma said, pointing his gun at where Archie’s henchmen were sure to round the corner.  Instead, however, Wolf’s keen ears caught the lightest sound—a dainty _clink_ that was the unmistakable chime of a grenade being loosed in their direction.  Claws digging into Pigma’s collar, the canine tried his best to pull the hog backwards before the resulting explosion.

        His sole eye blinked once and the hog was in his arms.  Wolf had fallen back into a sitting position, smoke obscuring the damage done by the explosive.  He took a gander down at Pigma, who was unconscious in his lap. With a push, Wolf freed himself of Pigma’s lumbering form, taking care not to be too rough with the fallen Pigma.  The hog lay on his side and Wolf reached down to feel for a pulse.  His ears rang but there was a rhythm somewhere in the cacophony of the fight.

 _Footsteps,_ he realized as he turned to examine Pigma.  Primal fear saw his blaster come to his hand.  He pointed it at the source and fired immediately.  One of Archie’s cronies fell, their descent into death framed by the clearing white smoke.  Wolf stood up, looking at where the other two of the three had fallen.  Andrew stood over one of them with his rifle in hand.  His amber eyes were somewhere between cruel and sorrowful as he looked down at the warming corpse.  A perfect shot ebbed with blood just between the eyes, seeping through the glass of the thug’s broken visor.

        “His fancy tech didn’t save him,” Andrew said quietly—so quiet, that Wolf was certain he had not been meant to hear it. 

        “We got a man down,” Wolf announced, scanning the corridor.  One of the walls had been blown open, revealing the desolate Eladardian wasteland.  Leon stood a few yards away, plundering the radio off of one of the bodies.

        “Pigma.  Pigma, get up!” Wolf said, his ears pinning back.

        “That guy radioed our position in.  We will have company soon,” Leon warned him.

        “Andrew, get ‘em up.  Leon, we’re gonna hold this hall if that’s what it takes.  No one gets here.  Got it?” Wolf asked and the Kewian gave a curt nod.

        “Why me?” Andrew asked.  “S-shouldn’t _you_ do this?  You’re um… you’re kinda missin’ your—”

        “My what?” Wolf asked and Andrew quickly back-tracked.

        “What do you want me to do about him?” Andrew gestured to Pigma.

        “Can’t you uhh… do some of that magic stuff with his mind and wake him up!” Wolf said hurriedly.

        “Oh sure,” Andrew scowled.  The simian looked down at Pigma.  With surprising force, Andrew pulled the unconscious Pigma into a sitting position, his fingers wrapped tight around the collar of the hog’s jacket.  Andrew shook him back and forth vigorously. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

        “That’s… one way to do it,” Leon remarked.

        Pigma’s milky white eyes opened after a few moments, blinking rapidly.  He stared at Andrew blankly before looking to Wolf and then Leon.  A knot was forming atop his skull like an awkward, red-crested peak.  He studied Andrew’s face again, squinting.

        “Who’re you guys?” the hog inquired innocently.

        “Oh you gotta be shittin’ me,” Wolf said in exasperation.

        “Kiddin’, kiddin’.  Errr… what happened to ‘em?” Pigma asked, looking at the thugs on the ground.

        “We happened to ‘em,” Andrew said with an air of cool confidence—an air that Wolf did not buy in the slightest.

        “Can you get up?” Wolf asked Pigma, who obliged shakily.

        “Ehhh yeah, I think I got this.  Thanks,” Pigma nodded.

        “Let’s move,” Wolf said and they continued down the damaged corridor.

        By the time they reached the final hallway, Andrew was in the front.  He grabbed the door handle to the boiler room, throwing it open for the others.  Wolf was a half-pace behind Leon, halfway to the opened door when Archie’s henchmen rounded the opposite corner.  They ran from the far-end of the grimy corridor, their lasers setting an eerie glow about the abandoned facility.  Wolf shot a few blasts back at them, shoving Andrew and Leon into the boiler room.  Pigma danced around the incoming enemy fire with some amount of grace before ducking through the open door.  Wolf was sure to pop both of the sprinting thugs in the head before slipping into the boiler room himself, clicking on the lock. 

        “That won’t hold them for long,” Wolf warned them.

        Leon pushed a crate in front of the door with some difficulty.  He looked to Wolf for approval, and the canine gave a stiff nod to appease the assassin.  Wolf turned his attention to the rest of the room, which was dimly lit by crimson emergency lights.  Pace still swift, he began forward, weaving his way through the large pipes that jutted from the ceiling. 

        “Alright, where’s the exit?” Pigma asked, massaging a growing lump atop his head. “Ooh, it’s kind of dark and creepy in here… Like something might come out and getcha!”

        “Don’t touch me,” Andrew grumbled.

        “Worry not, Andrew.  If something does come, I will stab it,” Leon said firmly.

        “My hero…” Andrew scowled at him.

        As they bantered about uselessly, Wolf scoured the ground, looking at the way the tile had been made.  Ears back, he studied the pattern.  Smudges and stains blemished the once-white tile like nonsensical ancient texts, warning of a painful demise if they did not hurry.  Wolf felt a growl rumble from the depths of his throat.  There was a bang on the door.  His heart jolted, its beat nearly drowning out all other noise.

_Where is it… where is it… Ugh, Lenny made it look so easy last time.  But I guess he has two eyes that work right._

        His single eye found the discrepancy in the flooring.  One of the tiles was tilted slightly in comparison to the others—subtle enough to go unnoticed by the unobservant eyes, stark enough of a contrast to irritate any with the meticulous need for things to be symmetric.  He pressed down on the tile and it clicked into place.  A cluster of tiles nearby slid away, revealing a large metallic door underneath.  Just as Wolf breathed a sigh of relief, he heard a much louder bang on the door.  They would be here soon.  

        “Shuddap.  Here’s the damn tunnel,” Wolf announced, kicking the door open with a foot. “Let’s move.”

        “How’d you know about this anyways?” Andrew asked, arms folded across his chest. 

        “Long story, don’t got time,” Wolf shook his head and waved them all hurriedly through.

        “Why would they have something such as this here?” Leon asked once Wolf had shut the door above them.

        Enveloped in total darkness, Wolf felt the lack of light as though it was tangible.   His fur prickled, skin beneath it crawling with unease.  From his jacket, he found his lighter.  With the flick of his thumb, he ignited it.  Their bodies cast uncanny silhouettes on the steel tunnel walls.

        “Back in the Civil War, places like this would procure a lotta minerals.  Valuable goods.  But the refineries had loyalties—to the old prime minister,” Wolf explained, voice low.  There was a noise outside, muffled by the thick tiles.  He gestured for the others to follow him.  “Some o’ the miners didn’t like that.  So they would use these tunnels to get the goods to the rebellion.” 

        “An’ do those guys know about this?” Pigma asked, pointing towards the ceiling, where the boiler room lay.

        “Doubt it.  They’d own these streets if they did,” Wolf shook his head.

        “How far does it go?” Pigma asked in intrigue.

        “All the way back to Corona, if we wanted.  This is the furthest it gets from the city.  That’s accessible still, that is,” Wolf shrugged.  “Some of the old paths didn’t survive the last bombing Eladard saw.  But never mind that, we want to head back to Corona anyways.  Keep your blasters at the ready.  Who knows what we’ll find down here.”

        Leon handed Wolf a flashlight, which the canine gratefully substituted for his lighter.  Wolf led their grim expedition through the tunnels beneath the factory, still keeping his maimed eye concealed by his left palm.  Though metal had framed the initial mile, the corridor they walked spilled into a wide, natural cavern.  A few broken lanterns were embedded into the sides of the stone walls, their lights having been extinguished years ago. 

        “How’re you feeling, Pigma?” Andrew asked, breaking the silence.

        “I’m okay,” Pigma shrugged.  “If anything, I think ya gave me whiplash.”

        “Sorry…” Andrew scratched the back of his head.

        “No you aren’t,” Pigma laughed, his boisterousness echoing into the darkness.

        They fell back into silence.  Wolf eventually learned to let his left hand drop to his side.  Their feet fell into an off-beat rhythm, the flashlight exposing nothing but the lonely path ahead.  The underground was silent except for them—their breath was as loud as a maelstrom and their feet sounded like gunshots in the abandoned tunnel.  Wolf wondered when the darkness under the factory had last been used.  Perhaps its last visitor had been none other than a young Wolf, eye bloodied and half-carried by a stern-faced croc. 

_I never thought I’d be here again.  And on the run from Archie’s damn troops.  I’d rather be fighting the Cornerians._

        It was hard to think that just a month ago, they had been in the thick of the Lylat Wars, conquering planets in the name of their insane employer and fighting against the dogs of Corneria.  Wolf was not sure if time had flown by him or if every day had just felt like twenty apiece.  The weight of it all rested on his shoulders, burdening his aching back and pulling at his legs. 

 _What do we do when we’re off this rock?  The Cornerians aren’t gonna think we’re dead that easily..._  He snuck a glance back at Pigma, who was limping along harmlessly.  _He hasn’t been acting too weird lately.  Maybe being cut from outside contact is why.  As soon as he has access to any sort of communications, I need to keep an eye on him.  I don’t trust that hog as far as I can throw him…_

        His exhaustion wore on him with every step.  If he was not stressed about Lenny, then he was stressed about Pigma.  If he was not thinking of the inevitable encounter with the Cornerians, he was thinking about Archie.  His grip tightened around the flashlight’s handle and he marched onward with a set jaw and racing thoughts.

_Retirement.  That sounds nice around now.  Somewhere off the map.  A hideout of my own._

        But he was virtually penniless and there were not many places for a fugitive to retire.  Besides that, Wolf dared not get his own hopes up—the world was cruel and it had given him little reason to ever hope.  He wished he could have said that he had chosen this life.

        “Y’know, there’s bound to be other mechanics we could turn to once we get to the city,” Pigma suggested.  “Don’t gotta be your friend.”

        “We ain’t doin’ that,” Wolf said, not even looking back at the other three.

        “Wolf,” Andrew sighed.  He heard a set of boots behind him stop.  With a gander over his shoulder, he could see Andrew had opted to linger slightly behind the other two.  Pigma slowed to a stop as well and even Leon looked dismayed as he came to a halt, staring at the ground.

        “It was one thing when we took the job.  Now this?” Andrew said, the hint of a whine in his tone.  It grated against Wolf’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard.  The simian’s amber eyes reflected off the flashlight’s glow as Wolf turned to face them.

 _A mutiny?_  

        “I just want to know—” Andrew began.

        “Shut up,” Wolf said to him, turning his focus to Pigma and Leon.  “Say your pieces.  He’s whined since we left Venom.  I don’t wanna hear it anymore.”

        “Heh, just seems like shit odds,” Pigma shrugged, rubbing his snout with the back of his wrist.  “All for some nostalgia thing… heh, seems like a stupid thing to die for.  I ain’t about that life, Wolf.”  Something in his silvery irises glowed like a threat. “You know.”

_You’d sell me to Archie if it got you off this rock.  I know that completely.  Just like how you tried to sell us to the Cornerians… Ugh.  Why I don’t just blast your damn head off, I will never know…_

        “And you?” Wolf asked Leon.

        The assassin studied Wolf’s face.  There were traces of exhaustion in his expression, hidden under his large eyes and curling his mouth into a permanent scowl.  Part of his sleeve had been burned off in the melee, revealing his muscled shoulder and a tattoo. 

        “Your eye,” Leon said quietly.  He looked like he was going to say more, but was having serious second thoughts.

        The area around the milky, blank eye twitched.  It burned with his growing self-consciousness, the bared skin prickling.  He turned away so that his unmarred side was exposed to them, ears back. 

        “Go on,” Wolf prompted in a low, gravelly voice.

        “It was taken by a bear.  Archie Ursus… is a bear,” Leon began.

        Sneering, the canine turned away from them.  “I told you.  He didn’t do this.”

_This again?  They’re so invested in this drama, you would think they’re a bunch of middle-aged Cornerian women, gossiping and making theories like this is some soap opera._

        “There is a reason you’re—” Leon started again.

        He turned back to face them and that was enough to shut Leon up.  Andrew cringed on the lizard’s behalf, holding his hands up defensively.  Pigma did not seem to budge but looked even _more_ intrigued. 

        “Fine!  You nosy fucks.  Ya want the truth?  Ya wanna know why Archie wants me dead?” Wolf’s violet iris danced between the three.  Leon looked visibly hurt, withdrawing back a step. “Well, listen here. I fucked him over.  Stole from his stock when he wasn’t lookin’.  I didn’t think anything of it.  Just wanted to get enough credits to get my family off of Eladard,” Wolf snapped. “Thought I was slick back in the day.  Guess not.  Now he’s branded me fer death.”

        “You stole from him?” Andrew asked incredulously. “All of this because you STOLE from him?”

        “He’s not a guy that takes gettin’ slighted too well,” Wolf retorted.

        “Why didn’t you just give whatever you stole back?” Andrew asked and Wolf fought the urge to throttle him.

        “It’s not about what I stole.  It’s about that I dared to touch what belonged to him,” Wolf replied. “He didn’t like it.  So he…” His hand tightened around the flashlight’s grip, nails digging into the rubber of its handle.  “… He decided he was done with me.”

        “Done with you?” Pigma inquired, not even bothering to hide his glee at getting insight into his leader’s background. 

        Wolf flitted an ear to the side in irritation. “You’ve hit your question limit of the day.”

        “Were you and him…?” Leon’s eyes stretched wide.

        Wolf stared at him for a moment before understanding the lizard’s meaning. “What?!  Fuck no.  What do you take me for?” Leon did not answer the question and Wolf scowled at him. “No.  I used to…” Pause.  Sigh. “I used to _work_ for him.”

        “Ohhhhhh,” Andrew said. “Everything is starting to make more sense now.  Except… wait, I thought you worked for Lenny!”

        “Yeah, that was my day job,” Wolf scowled. “But it didn’t pay enough.  Had three mouths to feed back then.  I would moonlight as a guard at one of Archie’s warehouses—where they kept the _good_ stuff.  That’s how I was able to pinch it.  Undercut his prices, had a few customers of my own…”

        “What did you sell?” Andrew asked, raising his brows.

        “Story-time’s over.” Wolf grumbled, rubbing his forehead. “My old boss has a hit on me.  It’s not somethin’ I’m proud of.  And it’s not somethin’ I like talkin’ about either…”

        “And then he took your eye,” Leon concluded in a very matter-of-fact tone.

        “You’re _still_ wrong,” Wolf scowled, covering his exposed eye with his free hand. “Anyways, I know we could go to any mechanic.  But Lenny.  Lenny’s the guy who got me off Eladard before Archie could skin me alive.  And I mean that _literally--_ Archie is a creepy fuck.  So call it a… A sort of life-debt.  And no, none of you have to care about it.  I don’t expect you to.  But you’ve been seen with me now so you’re on his hit list too.  Might as well stay an’ see how this all plays out, huh?”

        “Heh, Wolf,” Pigma remarked with a cunning twist of his lips. “You’re lucky I like you.”

_Lucky or cursed, I’m not sure which._

        “I will follow you regardless of what happens,” Leon said plainly. “Going our separate ways does not benefit us.  Any of us.”  His shifty eyes fell upon Andrew.

        “If I was going to leave, I’d have left by now,” Andrew said huffily.  Wolf did not believe him but he gave the young heir the benefit of the doubt.  He was still a greenhorn after all.  Andrew picked at one of his nails, adding snootily, “Besides, I don’t wanna die because you got us in this mess.”

        “Oh, sure, _I_ wasn’t the one antagonizin’ folk at the bar,” Wolf scoffed.

        “I wasn’t antagonizing anyone,” Andrew scowled.

        “Well, you could’ve fooled me with the way they kicked your ass outta there,” Wolf retorted, coming to a halt.  “Let’s take a break.  Legs hurt.”

        “Aye, aye, cap’n,” Pigma said with a sloppy salute.

        “Wolf,” Andrew said.  He was hesitating, something toying at the tip of his tongue.  When the words finally came, Wolf felt his brows raise in surprise. “… Thanks for finally telling us what’s going on.”

_But you’re wrong.  You’re so, so wrong.  I told you half of it.  Because that’s how people survive in the world we live in.  We tell people things to appease them.  We don’t ever tell them everything._

        “Mhm,” Wolf grunted and plopped down.  He closed his eyes, letting his other senses have control.  He could scent where the other two were, he could hear everything they did—every budge, every scratch, every dreary sigh in the pitch black they found themselves in. 

        They sat in the dark for some time.  Wolf rested his back against the rock wall, sitting next to Leon.  Andrew sat on the opposite side and Pigma wandered off to find a place to use the bathroom.  Wolf used the flashlight to look over his leg, marveling at how it had held up during their skirmish.  He caught Leon’s sideways look as he rolled his pants leg back down. 

        “It is healing,” Leon said, clearly pleased.

        “Doesn’t hurt like it did earlier.  Guess your plant-thing worked,” Wolf replied and Leon seemed to brim even more with delight.

        “How is your cheek?” Leon asked.

        “Just a tiny cut.  I’m more pissed about the eyepatch,” Wolf remarked gruffly.

        The Kewian gave pause, studying the darkness with a stoic expression.  His next words came out gradually, selected with precision only an assassin would have. “We can find another, I am sure.”

        “I’m not too worried about it,” Wolf said, knowing it was a half-truth. 

        “Are you well?” Leon asked him. 

        “What do you mean?” Wolf studied the lizard next to him.

        “You’ve been shaking for the last few minutes,” Leon pointed out and Wolf’s ears went back immediately.

_Am I that bad at lying these days?  Can he see right through me?_

        “Just cold,” Wolf shrugged.

        “Perhaps we could start a fire,” Leon suggested.

        “If you can gather the stuff, sure.  Ceiling’s high enough.  We won’t smoke ourselves out,” Wolf replied hurriedly.  Leon quirked a scaly brow but said nothing.  He took the flashlight and began about his work quietly, leaving Wolf to his thoughts.

        And his thoughts were plenty.  The darkness was good at playing with his mind’s eye.  He sat, eyes closed to shut out everything else.  He tried to envision the shores of Zoness, how the balmy breeze would feel when they were off the desolate Eladard.  But Zoness reminded him of James and that felt like a stab to the gut.  He changed the scenery as fast as he could—thinking of Papetoon and its arid cliffs.  He thought of the house where they—he and his siblings-- had all played.  A rickety slide was out off the back porch, its metal baked in Lylat’s rays.  Their aunt had always given them lemonade on those hot summer days.  It seemed like a lifetime ago…

        The shapes and shadows in his mind twisted.  They manifested into something familiar, something that sent his heart racing.  A girl in a hospital bed lay before him, her legs bandaged.  She was unconscious, clinging to life support.  An oxygen mask covered her face.  His palms felt the cold of the bedside rail, rage boiling in his chest.  His emotions manifest into a snarl.  And then it became a howl, a sole note demanding but one thing—bloody vengeance.

        Wolf’s eyes snapped open.  His scar prickled uncomfortably but it was Leon that caught his attention.  The assassin stood before him, resting a hand on his shoulder and leaning over.  Concern was clearly written in the lizard’s expression.  One hard glare from Wolf wiped Leon’s face clean of emotion, and the Kewian backed an apprehensive step.

        “Wolf…?” Leon asked.  “The fire has been started.”

        “Good,” Wolf replied, rising to his feet.  He caught a glimpse of where Pigma was sitting nearby, Andrew not too far off.  The firelight highlighted their exhausted faces.

        For a moment, Wolf truly wondered if they could even pull off a rescue mission.  They were battered, still tired from the Lylat Wars and their defeat at the hands of Star Fox.  The explosion from Andross’s base still echoed in his eardrums, its dark plume of smoke still visible to him each time he blinked.  For a moment, he almost felt his shell crack—he desired to do nothing more than lay down and quit on everything. But that was the darkness talking—and Wolf knew that.  He took a seat between Leon and Andrew.

        “Let’s talk strategy,” Wolf announced and he could feel the other three perk up with interest.  A crooked smirk decorated his maw.  “I wanna hit the ground runnin’ when we get out of here.”

_It’s too late to lay down and die._

        “What do you have in mind?” Andrew asked.

        “Pigma, can you rig a scrapper plane to autopilot?” Wolf asked the hog.

        “Ehhh depends on how it’s set up but I can try,” Pigma said, scratching his chin.

        “Oh, good.  We’re going to use it as a distraction,” Wolf said with a nod.  “And a battering ram.”

        “A battering ram?” Pigma asked gleefully.

        “Yes,” Wolf replied thoughtfully. “A battering ram.”

 _And this time, we’ll settle it.  All the loose ends get tied._ He paused. _I really am a sentimental old fool._


End file.
